Of Monsters and Men
by Sjoeks
Summary: S1: A hunt goes wrong and Sam has to make a decision: save dad and kill Dean or vice versa. The surviving Winchester blames Sam and loses himself in the hunt, while Sam's guilt and nightmares spiral out of control. What is dead should stay dead. Hurt/sick!Sam, grieving!Winchesters, CASEFIC, lots of angst, SEASON 1
1. Of killing and saving

**Title****:** Of Monsters and Men

**Author:** Lune aka Sjoeks

**Summary:** A hunt goes wrong and Sam has to make a decision: save dad and kill Dean, or vice versa. The surviving Winchester blames Sam and loses himself in the hunt, while Sam's guilt and nightmares spiral out of control. What is dead should stay dead. Hurt/sick!Sam, grieving!Winchesters

**rating:** T for language, violence and gore

**Genre:** horror, hurt/comfort, drama, suspense, angst, family, mistery

**Warnings:** character dead, grieving Winchesters, blood, strong language, strong violence, some sick!Sam, some hurt!Sam, a lot of angsty!Sam, loneliness, hallucinations

**Timeset: **Season 1

**Disclaimer: **Obviously don't own Supernatural, John, Dean or Sam. Do own all OC's and the plot.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Of killing and saving**

Jared Jenner put the key in the lock and turned, stepping inside his hall.

"Honey!" he called, closing the door with his foot, "I'm home!"

He grinned and tossed his keys aside. He shot a glance at the mirror and winked at himself, running a hand through his hair. He kicked off his shoes and hung his coat in the closet.

"Honey?" he called again when he didn't hear his wife. He frowned as he entered their living room. Her favorite vase lay in shards, water soaking the carpet. His frown deepened as he picked up the biggest shards, trying not to cut himself. He laid the tulips on their coffee table and looked around, trying to find his wife.

"Joy?" he shouted, "Are you home? Joy?"

He cautiously climbed the stairs. His blood ran cold as he opened their bedroom door.

"Joy?" he whispered. His wife was sitting on the bed, dressed in her undies, only one leg in her trousers. She was staring at her hands, one of her eyes heavily made up. She didn't look up when he entered the bedroom.

"Joy?" he asked, "Sweetie, are you okay? Joy?"

She didn't react to his voice. He didn't think she even realized he was there.

"Joy?" he placed a hand on her shoulder and she flinched, as if he'd hurt her. She stared at him with wide, fearful eyes, slightly panting.

"Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling so he was at eye-level with her, "What happened?"

"I…" she swallowed and stared at him fearfully, "I don't understand."

"Talk to me," he said, his hand brushing over her cheek. She shuddered and pulled away from him.

"Where am I?" she asked, stumbling as she tried to get up, "Who are you?"

"Joy?" His heart was racing and he could feel cold sweat pooling under his armpits. He stepped towards her and she tripped over her feet, trying to get away from him.

"Who _are_ you?" she started crying, "_Who are you?!_"

Her sobs filled their bedroom, and for a few painfully long seconds, Jared had no idea what he was supposed to do. When he tried to comfort her, she shied away from him. She fell and crawled to a corner, wrapping her arms around her knees as she cried loudly.

"_I want my mommy_."

* * *

"I haven't been able to poop for 7 days, you know?" the old lady behind the motel counter said with big eyes as she scribbled their names into a big leather bound book, "7 whole days!"

Sam awkwardly cleared his throat and looked away from the toothless lady in her blue flowery dress, scratching his neck. He could see Dean staring at his feet, trying – and failing – to hide his grin. His father shifted the weight of his duffel on his shoulder.

"Eh," John said, "That's… that's not so good."

"I know," she answered, nodding. She pushed her glasses up her nose, "Paul, my husband, says I have to eat well, so I'll poop well. You think he's right, son?"

Sam could feel an embarrassed blush crawl up his neck as he watched his father. Dean was shaking with silent laughter and Sam kicked him lightly against the chin. His brother glared at him for a second, mouthing 'what?' as if he had no clue that Sam was feeling awkward enough as it was.

"Maybe you should try eating prunes," John advised kindly. She nodded, and her glasses slid down her nose again, "Or maybe you should visit a doctor?"

"Oh sweetie pie," she cooed, tapping a wrinkled finger against his wrist, "I'm just old. There's nothing a doctor can prescribe that will help with _that_."

John smiled politely and signed the papers before accepting the keys to their motel room. He nodded towards his sons and they moved back to the parking lot. The moment the door closed behind them, Dean threw his head back and laughed out loud, which earned him a slap against the back of his head from his father.

"Leave her alone," John said as he opened the door of their room. They were in Jirka, Louisiana and the hunt was looking ugly. 24 women, with seemingly no connection between them and spread over the entire town, had fallen mysteriously ill. It would start with memory loss and confusion, and before they knew it, they'd lose consciousness and slip into a coma. So far, 14 of them had died already after being admitted to the hospital.

The plan was to get into the hospital pretending to be CDC and ask some questions. Maybe they could find a connection no one else had found so far. After all, none of the regular staff would look for supernatural reasons for the illnesses.

"It's like a mutated form of Alzheimer's disease," John said as he closed the trunk of the Impala. He glanced at the hospital. It was a big one, with a huge parking lot, so they still had some distance to cross until they'd reach the actual building, "It hits a lot faster and it's really aggressive. Most of them died within two weeks. The youngest victim so far is 18 years old and the oldest 45, so the age range is off as well."

"And no one has a clue about what could have caused it?" Sam asked, checking to make sure he had the right CDC badge. John shook his head.

"They're completely in the dark," he said, "And to be honest, so am I. I see absolutely nothing that connects them. Some are married, some are not. Some have kids, others still live at home with their parents. They have different religions and different ethnic backgrounds. Some are rich, some are poor. The only thing that's always is the same, is that they are women. But nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, connects them."

"This sucks," Dean sighed. John pursed his lips but didn't disagree.

"Excuse me?" a soft voice called. Sam turned around to face a small brunette. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making her eyes pop. She smiled shyly at him, holding a map. She couldn't have been older than 15.

"I'm lost," she admitted, a blush creeping on her cheeks, "I have a map, but I have no clue where I am. Could you help me out?"

"Oh," Sam shot a glance at his family, who hadn't noticed yet that he wasn't following anymore, "Yeah, sure… Let me see."

He took the map and traced with his fingers over the lines until he found the spot they were standing.

"We're here," he said, "Where are you going?"

"Park Street," she smiled coyly at him, tucking a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear, "I'm meeting some friends."

Sam stared at the map for a moment and bit his lip, "Found it! Okay, just follow-"

He didn't get any further than that. When he looked back at the girl, her lips were pulled back in a triumphant snarl. Pain flared in his head and he saw white, before everything went black.

* * *

It was cold and dark.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear sound, but everything was distorted, as if he were under water. He swallowed thickly and grimaced as he tasted blood. A weight on his chest was crushing him, leaving him breathless.

He groaned when he tried to open his eyes. They were crusty and itchy and it took him five efforts to finally open them fully. He thought he was going to be sick when everything spun around him like a merry-go-round. His breath came in short gasps, and it was only when he tried to move that he realized he was sitting – more like hanging – and his arms were bound above his head. He tiredly tried to lift his head, but it fell back against his chest. He groaned again.

"…m… S'm… Sam!"

He slowly started to realize that someone was calling his name. It was a familiar voice, so he put a little more effort behind the lifting of his head, leaving it to rest against his arm. Everything was spinning again.

"Sam! Come on, Sammy, keep your eyes open."

He wanted to answer the voice, he really did, but he was afraid that he'd vomit the moment he'd open his mouth.

"Please, Sammy…" a different voice, but as familiar as the first. _Dad. _

He blinked owlishly and finally his eyes managed to focus on his surroundings. He could see dad and Dean, both of them half sitting on the floor with their hands tied above their heads. Blood coated the side of Dean's head, standing out starkly against his ghostly pale skin. Dad didn't look too hot either.

"D'n…" he groaned. His mouth was so dry he could barely speak. He coughed and pain jagged through his head, causing him to moan once more.

"Dean," he tried again.

"That's it, Sammy," his brother encouraged. He didn't like the worried looks on his family's faces, "You okay?"

"'m fine," he mumbled. Dad snorted, humorlessly.

"You look _great_, champ," he said. Sam tried to glare at him.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Demons," dad answered through clenched teeth. Dean glared at something behind him, opening his mouth to say something. He snapped it back shut with an audible click when Sam heard movement behind him.

"Howdy," a heavy set man in his mid-forties stepped from behind Sam. He wore cowboy boots and a big hat. His eyes shone black and there was blood on his shirt. Sam swallowed as the man grinned at him. Dean swore.

Three other demons entered the room, including the girl who'd asked Sam for directions. She snapped her gum, staring coldly at them.

"Lori," the man barked, and she turned her head so fast Sam was afraid she'd given the girl whose body she'd hijacked a whiplash, "They're all yours. You know what to do."

She snapped her gum again and grinned, her eyes turning black. The other demons stepped back into the shadows.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," she said, shaking her head, "Poor Sammy, always landing in trouble."

She rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just a little too hard. He tried to pull away from her, but her grip was strong. She ruffled through his hair.

"Sammy, Sammy," she repeated, pressing her cheek against his.

"Leave him alone," Dean growled. Her head snapped towards him and she hissed. The heavy-set man landed a boot in Dean's ribs, causing the middle Winchester to groan loudly. Sam and John jumped at the same time, the urge to protect their family almost overpowering.

"Dean!" they shouted in unison. Lori's hand tightened painfully around his shoulder, making him squirm.

"I'm fine," Dean gasped, "I'm fine."

"Now Sammy," Lori smiled, "Let's play a game."

"What do you _want_ from us?" he asked.

"Truth or dare?" she asked, ruffling his hair playfully. He stared at her.

"C'mon, Sammy," she urged, "Truth. Or. Dare?"

"Screw you," he snarled.

"Na-ah," she tutted, "That's not how this game is played and you know it. Fine, truth it is then… Sam, do you feel guilty about killing your mother?"

"What?" he gaped at her. She cocked her head.

"Or should we ask daddy?" she asked in a childish voice, "Johnny, should Sammy feel guilty for killing Mary?"

"No," dad growled.

"No?" she asked, "What about you, Dean-o? Do you blame Sammy here for killing your sweet, sweet mommy?"

Dean's eyes flickered to his brother and he saw the fear in his brother's eyes.

"No," he said, jutting his chin forward.

"Interesting," she bit her lip, pressed her body against Sam's, rubbing her breast against his shoulder. Sam grimaced and tried to crawl away from her. It was perverse, she was only a little girl.

"I heard she died above your crib, Sammy," she purred, nuzzling her nose.

"Leave Sam alone," John said angrily. She shot him an annoyed look and rolled her eyes.

"Or what?" she asked haughtily, "You're going to _glare_ me to death? I'm _so_ scared now… see me shaking! "

The other demons laughed as she held up her hand, faking tremors.

"Anyway, next question," she took a breath, "Sam… Who's your favorite: Dean or your daddy?"

"What?" he knew he was repeating himself, but he couldn't help it.

"How did you get that full ride to Stanford, boy?" one of the demons shouted. Lori laughed.

"Let's make it a dare, shall we?" she licked her lips and pushed herself from Sam, "You can save only one. It's your choice, but at least one of them dies. Who are you going to kill, Sammy-boy? Your brother or your daddy?"

"What?" he stammered. She rolled her eyes and slapped him across the face.

"Wake up, Sam!" she shouted. She laughed at the lost look in his eyes, "Pick one."

"_No_!" he yelled.

"Yes!" she yelled back, "Or we kill them both."

Two of the other demons stepped forward and wrapped their hands around both Dean and John's necks, squeezing. Both of them made awful choking noises while their faces quickly turned red.

"No!" he shouted, his voice cracking.

"We'll kill 'm both, we'll kill 'm both," she chanted.

"Dean! Dad!" Sam was shaking, suddenly feeling incredibly dizzy again.

"Do we kill daddy and spare Dean?" she asked. The man let go of Dean's neck and his brother drew in a shaky breath and promptly started coughing, "Or do we kill Dean-o, and save your dad?"

The man grasped Dean's neck again, effectively shutting of his oxygen. It was dad's turn to start coughing.

"Kill daddy?" the roles reversed again, "Or Dean?" and again.

"No, no!" Sam gasped, "Neither! Kill neither!"

She flicked her hand and both demons stepped back into the shadows, leaving the other two Winchesters wheezing and coughing, tears streaming down their faces. Sam watched in horror how Dean's head fell forwards, hanging limply against his chest.

"Why would we do that, Sam?" Lori asked in annoyance.

"I don't know," Sam whispered, "Just… please…"

She sighed and kneeled down next to him, "No."

"Please," he begged, "I'll do anything… just… please…"

"Make a choice, Sam," she said coldly, "Or we'll kill them both. Slowly and painfully."

"Why are you doing this to us?" he whispered, watching his family recover.

"Azazel asked me to," she shrugged, uncaring.

"The YED?" his eyes flickered to his brother, who was staring at him with teary eyes, his breath wheezing, "Why? What does he want from us?"

She shrugged, "Don't know, don't care. Now pick your favorite family member."

Sam shook his head.

"Fine," she snapped, "I'll choose for you. Kill them both."

The next few seconds passed in a blur, but suddenly everyone was screaming at once. The demons stepped forwards, ready to slice Dean and John's throats, both of them screaming at Sam, who was so overwhelmed by the sudden realization someone really was going to die tonight he couldn't breathe.

"NO!" he screamed, thrusting forward in his bounds, "No, no, no, _NO_!"

"Then make a freaking choice!" Lori screamed in his face. He couldn't make out what Dean and dad were screaming at him and everything was so _loud_ and he still couldn't _breathe_ and _God_, what was happening?

"Pick me," he begged, tears welling in his eyes as he looked at his screaming family, "Pick me!"

Lori tsk'ed, "Sammy… where's the fun in that?"

"Please," he begged breathlessly. Why was everything spinning around him? "Please, just let them go. Just kill me instead. _Please_."

"Sorry Sammy," she sighed, "Can't do that. Kill them both," she repeated. The demons who'd been waiting with their knives at the ready set into motion again.

"No!" Sam wailed, tears spilling over at the realization of what they were making him do. What he was going to do, "I'll choose. I'll choose. Just… please."

He was sobbing by now, looking at the two people he loved most. Lori was right. He had killed his mother. And Jess. And now he was going to kill another person he loved. He was a monster. Why couldn't they just kill him? He was the only one who deserved to die here.

He could suddenly hear what they were screaming.

"You listen to me, Sam!" his father snapped, "If you don't save your brother, if you dare pick me, I'll hate you for the rest of your miserable little life."

"No!" Dean screamed back, "I hate you already. I _hate_ you Sam. And if you don't save dad, I'll kill you myself."

His own loud sobs drowned out their angry words as he cried "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again.

"I lied!" John looked him in the eyes, pure hatred on his face, "I do blame you. You killed my Mary. You killed your own mother. And now you're going to kill your brother as well? You save your brother, you hear me. For once in your life, try to do the right thing."

Their mutual screams of hatred and their promises of misery for him if they didn't save the other Winchester hurt so much that he thought his heart was literally being ripped out of his chest. His hysterical crying and screaming didn't drown out their harsh words though, and no matter how often he screamed back that he was sorry and that he couldn't do it, neither Winchester gave him a break to catch his breath and think about the situation.

Their scream-and-blame fest continued for several minutes, but it could just as well have been days or months. Decades even. In the end, Sam was so spent he couldn't even cry anymore. He hung in his bounds, listening to his family's words of blame and hatred until both Dean and dad were hoarse. Both Jess and his mother had been brought up several times, as well as Dean's crappy child hood and every argument he and his dad had ever had.

"If you don't save dad," Dean finally hissed, "I'll never speak to you again."

Sam looked at them through puffy eyes and saw the naked fear on their faces. He blinked tiredly and hated himself more than both his father and brother could ever hate him, even if they combined their hatred for him.

"I made a choice," he looked at Lori, who was enjoying the show from the sideline. She looked back at him expectantly. He closed his eyes in shame.

"I want you to save Dean," he whispered

"Doesn't work that way, Sammy," Lori shook her head.

"I made a choice, didn't I?" he asked tiredly, wishing he had never woken up in the first place.

"You don't get to _save_ anyone, Sam," she explained patiently, "You only get to _kill_ one of them."

"What's the difference?" his voice was begging again, pleading for this to be over. Maybe this was all a nightmare. He'd wake up in a minute and Dean and dad would be there, making fun of him, but being worried all the same.

"You don't get to save," she repeated, "you only get to kill. Say the right words, Sam."

"I can't," he whimpered, "Please."

"The 'kill them both' offer still stands, Sam," she reminded him unkindly, "Say the right words."

"Save Dean," he begged. He almost threw up saying the next two words, "K-Kill… kill dad."

He closed his eyes in disgust at his own weakness. He couldn't bear watching Dean's angry, hurt, _betrayed_ look.

"Thank you, Sam," Lori said kindly, petting his hair.

"Sam," dad said. He opened his eyes, swallowing thickly, "I love you, Sam."

"I love you too, dad," he cried, "I love you too."

Everything slowed down. He could see the heavy cowboy lift an axe above his head. He watched in horror as the heavy blade swung down. Someone was screaming as the axe split his father's head in two, blood splattering over the cowboy, his father and the floor.

It took him several seconds to realize the hysterical screaming and sobbing came from him.

"_Daaaaaaaad!_" he and Dean screamed, "_NO! NO! Dad! DAD!"_

The blood rushing through his ears was so loud he could hear nothing but his own shrieks. All he could see were his father's empty eyes, staring into nowhere.

Then everything faded into nothing.

* * *

**Hi guys, I'm baaaack :D**

**Yes, I took my sweet time, and I haven't written anything new this year (College is very time-consuming, and I had a MASSIVE writer's block)  
**

**I've planned this story completely, so the plot is done. Currently, the first two chapters haven been written. I'll try to upload every sunday afternoon (GMT +1) like I did with _The Lonely_. This will be a complete angst-fest, be warned. Less OC's, more drama :) I hope you'll all like it :D  
**

**And for who was wondering: Jirka (the name of the town) is the name of my dog ;)  
**

**Reviews are love, and rainbows and unicorns and a shirtless Dean ;)  
**

**Love,  
**

**- Lune  
**


	2. Of tea and funerals

**Chapter 2: Of tea and funerals**

When Sam's eyes snapped open, a piercing pain shot through his head, causing him to groan. His sight was blurry, and he slapped his arm over his face, trying to block out the offending light and pain. A low buzzing reached his ears, followed by a higher, more irregular tapping. His left leg twitched involuntarily and he bolted upright in his bed. The movement made his head spin, his heartbeat pulsing behind his eyes.

"Dean!" he panted, his eyes flashing left and right, taking in the motel room they'd rented from the old lady. His brother was sitting at the paper-covered desk, typing away on Sam's laptop. His eyes were squinted as he scribbled something down on a yellow post-it, before he stuck it to the laptop's screen.

Sam turned his head, massaging his temple with one hand. The bathroom door was open, the lights were out and Dad's bag was sitting on his bed. His coat hung over a chair. The stabbing pain intensified and he pressed his flat palm against his head.

"Dean?" he repeated. His brother's eyes briefly flickered towards him, before he continued his typing, more erratic. He was chewing on his bottom lip, his shoulders hunched. Sam frowned in confusion and his eyes widened when he noticed the white bandage on his brother's head, "Dean?"

His voice was half an octave higher than it should be, and his breath hitched when he noticed his own wrist. He brought his other hand from his head and held them in front of him. Both of them had white bandages wrapped around them. His hands started to tremble as his sight clouded.

"_Dean?_" he almost screamed, "_Where is dad?_"

Dean froze, closed his eyes and balled his fists. He shook his head ever so slightly, causing Sam's heart to stop beating, his lungs to painfully constrict. When his heart restarted, it beat twice its normal pace. He panted heavily, unable to catch his breath. He shook his head in anger and denial.

"No," he moaned, pressing his shaking hands against his head, "No… _No_…"

It was supposed to be a nightmare. A vision maybe. But it wasn't supposed to be real. _No. Nononononono._

He whimpered, pulling on his hair, "_Dad_..."

He couldn't breathe, the short gasps he managed to gulp down not enough to keep the room from spinning. The walls were pulsating, closing in on him as he stumbled out of his bed. The bright white bandage on his wrists mocked him when he held out his arm to balance himself against the wall when he lost his balance.

It was real. It couldn't be real.

_No._

"What happened?" he whispered, stuttering slightly in his need to breathe, "After?"

"They let us go," Dean answered curtly. He did not take his eyes off the screen.

"I don't… what… Just like that?" Sam's shaking voice climbed another octave. Dean did not answer his question, looking everywhere but at his little brother. No, not just like that. The price had been high. Too high.

_Dad._

_I hate you, Sam. If you don't save dad…_

Sam's breath hitched multiple times in a row at the sudden realization that Dad was not just dead. He had _murdered_ his own father. He had made the choice.

And Dean knew it too.

_I hate you, Sam._

"Dean?" he pleaded. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second and he saw the raw pain on his brother's face, before Dean swallowed thickly and quickly looked away again, his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap. His brother couldn't even _look_ at him and when he saw Dean visibly shrink in his chair when he felt Sam's lingering stare on him, something in him snapped.

_I hate you._

He couldn't breathe. Dean's haunted look was blaming him, was slicing him up inside and killing him slowly. Or fast. Or both. The eyes on the pictures on the walls stared at him accusingly, yelling '_you killed him! You killed him!_' over and over again. He was suffocating and the walls continued to close in on him, coming closer and closer until he almost fell to the ground, a pathetic whimpering mass_._ His painful gasps filled the room, yet Dean still wouldn't look at him. Wouldn't save him from the black void in his chest that was threatening to take him under.

He had killed his father.

He pulled on his hair, pulling out strands of it as he gagged slightly as he choked. After the visions had started, he had thought he couldn't possibly become a worse monster, less human. He had been wrong.

He needed air, but didn't have enough of it in his oxygen-deprived lungs to tell Dean, so he just mumbled something in the hope his brother would understand. When he stumbled through the door onto the parking lot, the bright light sliced through his skull like knives. He moaned, shielding his eyes from the setting sun. The air helped slightly with his breathing, but did not quell his panic. He stumbled around on the parking lot, bumping into several cars, until he could not go any further and rested his head against a lamppost. His breath came in fast sobs, making him dizzy. The tears that had been threatening to fall streamed down his face as he cried.

"Are you alright, son?" the voice behind him startled him. Consumed by his misery, he had not heard the man approach. He spun around quickly, but the world did not stop its spin when he did. The parking lot did a lazy swirl around him and suddenly he was staring up at the sky.

"Whoah!" the old man exclaimed, grabbing his arms. The man's strong arms were all that kept him from falling face first onto the asphalt, "steady, son. Are you alright? You don't look so good... You know, I've seen bodies with more color.

C'mon, kid," he hoisted Sam's arm over his shoulder, "Let's get you sitting down. Before you fall down."

He gently lowered Sam to the ground, resting his back against the lamppost. He pushed his head between his knees, while rubbing his neck in soothing circles.

"You're alright, kiddo, you're alright," he said, "Just breathe. You'll feel better in a moment."

After a few minutes of sobbing helplessly with his head between his knees, his face hidden in his hands, the fog in his mind slowly started to clear and the dizziness passed. He lifted his head and looked up at the old, skinny man. He had neat white hair and many wrinkles. His suit was outdated.

"Thank you," he mumbled. Suddenly ashamed, he quickly brushed his hands over his face, trying to hide the evidence of his emotional breakdown, "I'm… I'm sorry."

"No, no, son," the man shook his head, "Don't worry about it. I'm Paul, this is my motel. I feel highly responsible for my clients."

"Sam," Sam answered, shaking the man's hand. He was a little surprised when he pulled him back on his feet. His surprise at the man's fitness must have shown, as he winked and said: "I work out. Please, you still look horrible – no offense – come inside and have some tea with Eleanor and me. She'd be pleased."

"I don't know," Sam answered, still not too steady on his feet, "my brother…"

"Please," Paul said with a sympathetic smile, "I insist. I would feel horrible if I did not at least offer you a strengthening cup of tea and something would happen to you. Plus, Eleanor would scoff me if I just let you suffer alone."

Paul winked at him and ushered him forward, "C'mon Sam, you know how women are. They need someone they can mother."

With a jolt, Sam realized that both his mother and father were dead and, even worse, both were his fault. He took a shaky breath and suddenly that cup of tea didn't sound so bad. A bottle of tequila sounded even better. Paul led the way, ushering him behind the counter of the motel.

"Nora!" he yelled, "Eleanor, where are you, dear?"

He pushed Sam down on a flowery couch and disappeared into his home, to where his wife was calling back. A few minutes later, both came into their living room, carrying a steaming pot of tea and a few cups. Eleanor was very kind and discreet about his little breakdown on the parking lot. He nodded gratefully when he noticed Paul adding a splash of whiskey to both his and Sam's tea.

By the time Sam returned to his room, it was completely dark outside. He sighed when he stood in front of their door, resting his head against the solid wood. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to ground himself.

He pushed the door open and did not see Dean, until he was forcefully pressed against the wall with his brother's arm over his chest.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" Dean demanded. Sam's eyes widened in panic when he saw the furious look in his brother's eyes.

"I had… tea?" his eyes flashed towards the still half open door, his only exit.

"You… What?" Dean pushed Sam harder, causing the younger Winchester to groan softly, before he let go of him, "Whatever."

"Dean…" he tried, but his brother cut him off, holding one hand in the air, staring at the wall.

"I don't need to hear it. Get your stuff."

Sam looked at him in surprise, rubbing over his painful ribs, "Where are we going?"

Dean didn't answer, slamming the door behind him as he left. Sam had never felt more helpless in his life. He stared at his brother's bed and blinked rapidly, sighing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the empty room, "God… Dean…"

The car was filled with awkward silence. Dean didn't turn on the radio, and Sam didn't dare touch it. He rested his head against the window and stared at the trees. He rolled his head tiredly over the seat to look at his brother. Dean was staring through the windshield, lost in thought. He flinched when Sam sighed and Sam's heart constricted painfully. He locked his lips to keep another sigh inside.

"Where are we?" he asked when Dean parked the car. Dean shook his head and exited the car. Sam frowned as he followed his brother towards the big barn. The dark building looked threatening in the moonlight. A bird called from somewhere in the near distance, making Sam jump. He looked around to see if there was anyone else around, but there was only their car in the parking lot.

Sam's heart froze when they reached the door. The green wood was hanging in its hinges, smeared with blood. When Sam touched it, the sticky substance colored his fingers red, making his stomach turn. His eyes needed a few seconds to adjust to the darkness inside the silo and when he could see again, he froze.

"Dean," he choked. Dean was breathing hard, shaking his head furiously.

"Dad," his brother whimpered, stumbling forward. He fell to his knees, sobbing as he bent over the body on the floor, "_Dad_…"

Sam couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There, on the floor, was what was left of his father. Dean's painful sobs reached his ears, but he couldn't hear them over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. He fell to his knees and crawled to his family. When he grabbed his father's hand, it was cold and stiff. He wailed loudly and threw himself over his father's body, sobbing. His and his brother's shoulders brushed against each other, and he could feel him shaking and crying. They were both whimpering, whispering words of denial and pain.

"I'm so sorry," he cried, "I'm so sorry."

Dean was the first to pull himself together and hide his emotions. His face was blank as his walls slammed into place and he pulled Sam away from their father's body.

"No!" Sam cried in protest, clinging to the stiff remains.

"Get up, Sam," Dean sighed softly, "It's time. We need to give him the funeral he deserves."

Sam shook his head, grasping their father closer.

"Sam," Dean repeated, prying loose his fingers, "C'mon… Sam…"

Sam let himself be pulled to his feet, seeking comfort in Dean's warm touch. He wanted to rest his head on his brother's shoulder and be comforted, like when they were children, but Dean was gone in a blink, making Sam lose balance.

"Grab that blanket," Dean ordered. They worked in silence, rolling their father's body into the blanket, pointedly ignoring the blood and each other. When their hands touched, Dean flinched and quickly pulling back his hand. An ice-cold fist closed around Sam's heart.

He laid his hand over his father's chest, clenching it into a fist when Dean got up and walked away. The temperature had dropped remarkably since the sun had set, and his shaky breaths were fogging out in front of him. When he looked over his shoulder with puffy eyes, he could see his brother leaning against a wall, head ducked. Their eyes met for a second and Sam looked away before Dean could, not ready for another rejection.

They didn't speak while gathering the wood, nor when they carried their father outside and laid him on their makeshift funeral pyre.

"Any last words?" Sam's voice cracked. Dean stared at their father, his eyes moist.

"No," he whispered and lit the pyre. They stood side by side, watching their father burn, crying silently. The flames licked his body tentatively, before hungrily consuming it. This was the last time they'd see their father. This was the official end of John Winchester; man, father, hero.

Sam looked up at the sky, tears streaming down his face. The night sky looked down at him, stars twinkling innocently, while the crackling of the fire warmed his body, but not his heart. In the distance, a plane flew over.

He frowned when he noticed a figure in the woods, watching them. His eyes grew wide when he recognized the man and he could feel himself pale. Sam could only stare at the figure in the woods, panting slightly. Then he blinked, and he was gone.

"Dad?" he breathed.

* * *

**Sunday afternoon, as promised :) I hope you liked it!**

**Reviews are love!  
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**- Lune x  
**


	3. Of nightmares and hospitals

**Chapter 3: Of nightmares and hospitals**

"You have to make a choice, Sammy," Lori sang in his ear, her slim fingers brushing through his hair, stroking his cheek, "What's it going to be?"

"Please," Sam begged. Dean and John were staring at him with fearful eyes, both gagged and bounded. They were shaking their heads, trying to say something, but they couldn't get a word around their gags.

"Please?" she repeated, pouting, "Sorry, there's no 'please' on my list."

"I'm begging you," tears were pooling in his eyes. He shook his head and she clacked her tongue.

"Fine," she smiled and brought her face closer to smell his hair. He could hear her intake of breath as she sniffed his hair, "You don't have to choose, darling-dear."

"No?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

"No," she answered with a bright smile, "Of course not, sweetheart."

"Thank you," he breathed in relief.

"Kill 'm both!" she shrieked.

"_NO!_" Sam screamed.

"Yes!" Lori jumped up and down in ecstasy while clapping her hands and laughing maniacally, "Kill 'm both, kill 'm both!"

Sam could only watch in horror as she snapped her gum and his father's head exploded. It rained blood on him and Dean as John's headless body sagged. Blood gulped out of his neck, spilling warm and red over his shirt. A skull shard came spinning towards him, landing just next to his hand.

"Dad!" he sobbed, tears running down his face, mingling with his father's blood. Dean was staring at him in sheer terror, his enormous eyes flashing from him to what was left of their father.

"Dad," Dean babbled, "Dad… dad… daddy…"

"Aw, Sam," Lori shook her head in pity, petting his hair, "Look what you did to daddy."

She grabbed his neck forcefully, painfully turning his head away from dad and towards his brother.

"Look what you're doing to Dean-o," she whispered, her pout evident in her voice. She clacked her tongue and Dean's head turned red. He made a gurgling noise, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. A small vein popped in his eye, and a bloody tear ran down his cheek.

"Sammy," he choked. And then his head exploded. Sam saw it as if in slow motion. Dean's head turned another shade of red, before it cracked, blood spurting out of his nose and ears. Then it burst like a balloon. Sam shrieked as his brother's hot blood washed over him.

"_Dean_!" he screamed. His eyes flew open and he shot up in his bed, panting. Panicking, his eyes flashed around their room, searching for something familiar. When he saw his brother snoring softly in his own bed, he let out a shaky breath.

"Nightmare," he whispered to himself, "Just a nightmare."

He shakily brushed his hands through his hair, shaking his head in an effort to clear it.

"God," he mumbled, pressing his hands into his eyes. He threw the covers off of him and stumbled into the bathroom. He closed the door and switched on the light, blinking heavily against the brightness of it. Gripping the sink he stared at himself in the dirty bathroom mirror. He looked pale and lost, a haunted look in his eyes.

Closing his eyes, he saw his father and Dean dying over and over again, _their heads exploding, their blood drowning him_. He gagged slightly and snapped his eyes back open, gripping the sink more tightly.

"Not real," he mumbled, "Not real."

He turned on the faucet and let the ice-cold water bite his fingers and wrists, before throwing it in his face and brushing it through his hair. He took a few sips and turned off the faucet again.

"Not real," he repeated, "Just a nightmare."

Except that his dad was dead.

He sank down on the toilet lid and rested his head in his hands, sighing. He took a shaky breath, pulling on his hair. His father was dead and it was his fault.

In a burst of anger, he flew up from the toilet seat and swiped their stuff off the sink unit with a livid roar.

"I hate you!" he yelled at the mirror as he yanked the towels off their racks, hurling them through the small bathroom, "I hate you! I ha-"

"Sam!"

He whirled around to see Dean standing in the doorway, clad only in his boxers. He looked tired and confused, a little angry even.

"What the hell?"

Sam wanted to punch his brother in the face, even lifted his fist to do so, but when he saw the lost-boy look his brother wore, his anger deflated, quickly being replaced by an empty sort of shame. His shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes for a second – _blood gushing from their severed necks – _before quickly opening them again and looking around the little bathroom. It looked like a bomb had gone off in it.

"Just… go back to bed," he said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his neck, "I'll clean it up."

Dean stared at him in disbelief, shaking his head with a frown, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

_I killed dad!_ He wanted to scream, but he was afraid to do so, fearing his brother would yell back _Yes! Yes you did, you monster!_

"I'm sorry," he whispered, afraid to meet his brother's eyes. Dean didn't answer. They stood in silence for a few seconds, before Dean sighed and turned around, leaving the bathroom.

"I really am," Sam whispered to the closed door, "Sorry."

Dean seemed to be asleep again by the time he reemerged from the bathroom. He crawled back in bed, pulling the covers over him. Afraid to close his eyes he sat back up, resting his back against the headboard. He glanced at Dean and counted his breaths. Looking at his father's empty bed sent painful stabs through his heart, sharp as knives and vicious as ice. He missed Jess.

A weak smile tugged at the corner of his lips at the memory of Jess. He wished she'd walk through the door and hold him, rest her head on his shoulder as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear, drawing circles on his hands with her long nails.

"I love you," he mumbled. He felt cold and lost without her at his side. No matter how bad, she always managed to make him feel better. In a way, she had been a replacement for Dean. Because he had left Dean.

And now Jess and dad and Dean had left him.

He sighed and bit his thumbnail. God, he'd screwed up. He was bad luck. Maybe Lori was right, maybe it would be better if he had never been born.

Sam didn't go back to sleep for the rest of the night, and by the time Dean woke up and wordlessly disappeared into the bathroom, he felt exhausted. They had breakfast in silence and Sam was glad Dean didn't bring up the bathroom-incident from earlier that night.

Dean parked the car on the hospital parking lot and shut the engine. For a moment, he didn't move and just stared out of the windshield, before he opened the door and got out.

"You've got your badge?" he asked. Sam nodded, "Good… And Sam… Let's not get abducted this time."

Sam felt himself pale at Dean's almost casual remark. The palms of his hands started to sweat and the sun glaring down on his neck was suddenly too hot. Dean didn't say anything after that and he followed his older brother into the coolness of the air-conditioned hospital.

"I'm Doctor Chase," Dean flashed his badge to the young woman behind the desk, "This is my colleague Doctor Cameron, CDC. We're here about the mysterious Alzheimer-like plague?"

He flashed her a rogue grin and she blushed, tucking a strand of dyed red hair behind her ear, "Right… eh… Tenth floor, on your right, Doctor Chase."

"Call me Dean," he winked, "Thanks, darling."

She giggled and blushed a deeper shade of red. Sam frowned.

"Really, Dean?" he asked, when they were waiting in front of the elevator.

"What?" he asked, almost aggressively, "She was cute."

Sam shook his head, pursed his lips. The elevator dinged and they fell back into their silent pattern until they arrived on said floor. There was a heavy atmosphere, the nurses looking as desperate as the family members.

"CDC," Dean smiled to a male nurse.

"Of course," he nodded, "I'll call Doctor Spencer. If you could just wait over there."

A few minutes later, an elderly woman in a white lab coat stalked towards them, briskly holding out her hand.

"Julie Spencer, neurologist," she introduced herself, "CDC I hear? It's about time."

"Dean Chase," Dean took her hand, "My colleague Sam Cameron. What can you tell us about the disease?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," she indicated them to follow her, and they walked past glass rooms, filled with women of all sizes, colors and ages, looking deadly pale and childlike in their hospital beds. Husbands and parents sat next to them, holding their hands, "We don't know how it spreads, but it doesn't appear to be contagious. It's probably something they ate or breathed in somewhere or came into contact with some other way. We don't know, but you're here now, so I'm sure you'll find out soon."

She gave him a hard stare, as if she was challenging them to prove her wrong. After a few seconds she continued, "So far, we've had 28 hospitalizations. 20 of them didn't make it. All I can tell you for sure, is that it is something that affects the brain and is extremely aggressive. We're calling it Alzheimer II, but I'm guessing that the moment you two geniuses find out what it is exactly, it will be named after you."

Sam blinked and offered, "Alzheimer II sounds okay."

"Huh," she said and expanded her chest, "Well."

She shut up after that, and they watched in horror – or professional interest, in Doctor Spencer's case – as one of the women flat-lined. Sam gripped the wooden rail against the walls with both hands as he stared at the scene in front of him. The patient was just a girl, seemingly in her early twenties. Her parents were screaming, shaking her still body as the nurses and Doctor Spencer rushed into her room. The male nurse, who'd fetched the doctor for them, pulled back the girl's father, as Doctor Spencer yelled something into her intercom. She ripped open the girl's blouse as she jumped onto the bed and climbed on top of her patient. One of the nurses shoved a wooden plank under the girl as Doctor Spencer started compressions. A mask with pressed air was pushed over the girl's face and at that moment the CPR-team rushed in with their shiny machinery, ready to take over.

After a few minutes of frantic work they all stepped back, shaking their dead. Doctor Spencer clenched her fists as she wrote something down, saying something to her colleagues. Sam could read her lips and his heart froze.

_Time of death, 10:13 AM._

Her sheet was pulled over her and her hysterical parents were led away by the nurses. A woman in a grey suit nodded gravely at them, before laying a hand on the devastated parents' shoulders. A social worker.

"Make that 21 women we couldn't save," Doctor Spencer sighed. Sam jumped, he hadn't seen her approach.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, "Can we see the other bodies?"

"Of course," she nodded, waved her hand, "Just follow the nurses, they're taking Tabitha to the morgue now."

She shook their hands and turned around, briskly walking away again. Dean stared after her, blinking slowly. They followed the nurses to the morgue in the basement, listening to their concerns. The forensic doctor greeted them, as he helped the nurses put the girl's body on his table.

"Good luck," he said as the nurses left.

"Thank you," the youngest of them answered gravely.

"Have you found anything yet?" Dean asked. The doctor frowned.

"Not sure," he answered, "Their brain gave out, that's all I know. It just deteriorated until it completely stopped functioning. But I don't know what caused it. Their toxicology reports came back clean. There was no head trauma and they weren't old enough for it to be actual Alzheimer's disease. It seems to be random luck – or bad luck – that they became the victims. Just like Alzheimer."

"Just like Alzheimer," Dean repeated, "Can we see the other bodies?"

"Yeah, sure," the doctor nodded, pulling open one of the body-drawers, "We haven't been able to release them and hand them back to their families yet, so they're all still here."

He frowned as he leaned over the drawer, mumbling: "That's weird."

"What is?" Dean asked, stepping forward. The doctor shook his head and pulled open another drawer. And another.

"What?" he asked in disbelief, scratching his head, "This is impossible."

And another drawer was pulled open.

"What's going on?" Dean asked eagerly.

"They're gone!" he cried, "This can't be."

"Gone?" Dean repeated, disbelief in his voice, "What do you mean, gone?"

"What do you think I mean?" he half-snapped, "The bodies… are gone."

* * *

**Yay, new chapter! Phew, it's a heat wave here, 35°C in the shadow.. I think I'm melting :p **

**Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter :D Thank you for all your lovely reviews and story alerts and favorites :D You guys are the best x3  
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**Reviews are like strawberry ice-cream and a big cold milkshake :p and maybe a swimming pool as well ;)  
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**- Lune x  
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	4. Of pinky promises and the blame game

**Chapter 4: Of pinky promises and the blame game**

Sam gaped at the doctor as if he was a foreign creature.

"How can the bodies possibly be gone?" he asked with a frown, "They _were_ here, right?"

"Yes," the doctor hissed, "Where else do you think we stow bodies? In closets? They were here, I closed the drawers myself after the autopsies. Why would anyone want to steal a body?"

"We'll help you look, if you like?" Sam offered. Dean looked as if he were about to roll his eyes.

"Look?" the doctor was nearly hysterical, "Good lord, this isn't happening. This _can't_ be happening. Yeah," he laughed maniacally, "You contact me when you see them walking around somewhere."

Dean's eyebrow shot up, "Listen, doc," he said, "We're just trying to help, alright?"

The doctor sagged and brushed a hand through his hair, "I know… I'm sorry, it's just… It's not like this has ever happened to me before. I need to inform my boss. Possibly his boss as well. And his."

The doctor walked out of the room, a fearful thread in his steps. Sam watched as the thick doors fell shut with a loud bang, causing him to jump, even though he'd watched the doors shut. When he turned around, Dean was poking Tabitha's body, making faces as he did so. He lifter her arms and legs and pulled her hair. When he bent over her to look into her ears, Sam interrupted him.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for marks," Dean answered matter-of-factly, without looking up, "Can you check the other bodies, see how many of them have disappeared."

It wasn't really a question, more like an order, but Sam nodded. Normally he would have fought over being given orders, but these weren't normal times. He hacked into the computer for a list of names and quickly found the drawers which stacked the bodies they needed. Upon pulling the other drawers open, he frowned and sighed.

"Find anything?" Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Sam with a blank face.

"Three bodies," Sam answered, "Julia Rose, 36, Annabelle Potter, 21 and Susie-Anne Moore, 28. All the others are gone."

"Did you find any clues?"

"No."

Sam looked at his brother, saw the badly hidden disappointment on his face and cast his look downwards. But it wasn't his fault there was nothing. They were just clean, shiny body drawers. There wasn't even a spat of blood on them, let alone some serious clues that could help them further in their investigation.

"Did you find anything on the bodies?" he asked hopefully.

"No."

Yeah, he hadn't really believed he would. Dean sighed deeply and brushed his hand over his face.

"Let's get back upstairs," he said as he started walking back to the elevators, "Interview the families. Maybe they've seen something suspicious, but they just don't know it yet."

He hit the elevator button a little harder than necessary and tapped his foot impatiently as they waited. There was more foot-tapping on their way up and Dean nearly ran out of the elevator by the time it dinged on their floor. Sam followed more slowly, glancing at the nurses-station and the scared families running down the halls. Some held flowers or balloons.

"You coming?" Dean asked impatiently, disappearing into the room they'd seen Tabitha die in earlier. Sam reluctantly entered the room as well. A few of the people looked up to see who they were. Most of them just continued staring at their dying loved ones. An elderly man was crying over a much younger pale girl. Hopefully his daughter or granddaughter.

"Hi," Dean introduced himself to one of the men who'd watched them come in, "I'm Dean, this is my partner Sam. We work for the CDC. Do you mind if we ask you some question?"

"Jared," the man answered in a tired voice, motioning for them to sit down, "Jared Jenner. This is my wife… Joy."

He smiled sadly at the woman, hooked up to an impressive amount of tubes.

"Nice to meet you," Sam tried, "I wish it were under different circumstances though."

Jared laughed humorlessly, "Yeah… me too."

"When did this happen?" Dean asked, pulling a small notebook and a pencil out of his pocket. Sam frowned.

"I don't know…" Jared sighed. He had a dark, lost look in his eyes and he seemed to age at least 10 years in front of their eyes as he reached over and grabbed his wife's hand, "Last week, when I came home from work, she was so… _confused_. She didn't know where she was, or who I was. She sat on the bed, crying like a terrified kid, asking for her mother."

Dean nodded eagerly.

"Her mother died a few years ago. Pancreatic cancer. It all happened very fast," he sighed again, "It was just so… scary, y'know? I left for work in the morning and she was fine. And when I came back… she wasn't. I thought maybe she'd had a brain aneurism, or a tumor we hadn't known about. I thought she was d-…" he swallowed thickly. When he continued, his voice was barely a whisper, "I thought she was dying. I guess she really is…"

Tears welled in the man's eyes and Sam suddenly had trouble breathing.

"After that night, it went downhill very fast," tears spilt over his face, and he shook his head angrily, wiping them away brusquely, "After a few days, she seemed to have forgotten she existed at all. She would lie in bed and just… stare. At the ceiling or at a wall. She was empty inside. A shell. Two days ago, she wouldn't wake up, no matter how hard I tried. That's when I drove her to the hospital, and found out about the others."

"You didn't know?" Dean asked with a frown.

"I only follow financial news," he shrugged, "The rest doesn't seem as important… Guess it was important after all."

He'd been more or less successful at keeping his tears at bay until now, but now he started crying in earnest, grabbing his wife's hand and holding it close to his chest.

"God… Joy…" he sobbed, "My sweet Joy."

"How old is she?" Dean asked.

"42," Jared sobbed, "It was her 42nd birthday last week. Just before this all started."

Dean's eyes lit up like a kid in a toy store, "'Just before this all started', huh?"

"Yes," Jared cried and then he was rendered speechless, overwhelmed by grief. Unable to answer Dean's questions, Dean just awkwardly patted the man's back and moved on to the next family.

"Will you save my mommy?" a small kid asked them.

"We're trying our very best," Sam answered solemnly.

"Promise?" the boy asked, stumbling slightly over the word. He held out his small pinky finger towards him and Sam's heart clenched and unclenched. He wanted to make the boy feel better and promise him he'd save his mommy, but he couldn't, because he wasn't sure it wasn't all a lie. And he didn't want to lie to the kid, tell him everything would be alright when really, it wouldn't. When his mommy might be dead by next morning, or even tonight.

But the little boy looked so lost and desperate. Maybe he didn't fully understand what was going on yet, because he was only a kid. He just missed his mommy. He probably missed her cuddles and her voice, and the pale, unresponsive woman in the hospital bed was now a scary stranger to him, no longer his warm loving mother. The boy just wanted to feel save again.

"I promise," Sam whispered, and he grabbed the little boy's pinky with his own. The boy's face cleared slightly, and a small, hopeful smile tugged at his lips. Then he ran back to his father and mother, a few beds over. Dean was interviewing a woman, who was holding the hand of another sick woman.

"I don't know," he heard her say, "I mean, sure she might have been a little confused, when I think about it. She'd forget appointments, or couldn't find her keys. But that's normal, isn't it? Everyone forgets small things like that, right? But then it steadily became worse. She'd forget to eat or to go to bed. She'd forget my name or where she was. At a certain point she was so confused she didn't even know what was going on, where and whom she was, who I am… And then she just… collapsed. We were having breakfast in the kitchen, mom had just put the cat outside. She wouldn't wake up, so we had to call an ambulance."

"Do you have any idea of where it might have come from?" Dean asked as Sam sat down, "Where she could have gotten infected?"

The woman shook her head.

"Did she go anywhere out of the ordinary? A place she didn't usually visit? Somewhere she might have gotten infected?"

"I don't know," she slapped her hands over her face, "The mall? She didn't usually visit the mall, but she went, only two days before all this happened… You think she could have gotten infected there?"

"How old is your sister? When was her birthday?"

"She's 25," she sighed, "Her birthday was back in January. Why?"

Dean's face fell, "It's… just a theory we were working on."

"Oh," she breathed, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, "Do you know… do you have any idea on how to save my little sister?"

"… we're working on it," Dean glanced at Sam, "Thanks, Karen."

"You're welcome," Karen smiled tiredly, "I hope you find a cure."

"Good luck," Dean shook her hand, "C'mon Sam, let's interview some more people."

When Sam got up from his chair to follow Dean, he stumbled slightly. For a moment, everything went black for his eyes and he had to grab the chair to keep from falling. Pain spiked behind his eyes and he felt slightly nauseous.

"Are you okay?" Karen asked and he could hear worry in her voice. He shook his head to clear his sight as he grabbed his head.

"Yeah," he mumbled and he cleared his throat, "Yeah, fine. Just got up too fast."

"You don't think you're infected as well, do you?" she asked worriedly, laying a hand on his arm.

"Oh, no, no," he smiled at her, "I'm fine. For as far as we know, there's no reason to think men could get infected. I'm just… tired."

After last night's nightmare, he hadn't been able to fall back asleep and that was wearing him down now. He wished he could lie down and catch some shut-eye, but not only did he fear he would have more nightmares, Dean wouldn't like it if he started napping in the middle of the day.

"Sam!" Dean barked, "You coming?"

Sam looked up at his brother and swallowed his discomfort, nodding goodbye to Karen. He followed Dean's lead and interviewed a few of the nurses and doctors, while Dean asked questions to half the staff and all family-members. He didn't get any wiser with any of the interviews, though, and his headache hadn't abated either. By the time Dean and he met up again, they were both frustrated and Sam was beyond tired. No one knew a thing. There was nothing that connected the women.

"I don't get it!" Dean half-yelled in frustration. By the time they got back to the motel, it was dinner-time. Dean ordered Chinese and grabbed a handful of case files and Sam's laptop, eagerly scratching out things he'd written down earlier and typing furiously on the laptop, adjusting his earlier notes.

"Go over it again," he ordered Sam, without looking up from the laptop.

"I've gone over it 20 times, Dean," he sighed tiredly, brushing a hand through his hair.

"Go over it again," Dean said through clenched teeth, "Sam!"

Sam frowned, looking at his brother. Dean looked pale and tired, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Dean…" he asked softly, "Are you alright?"

Dean snapped the laptop shut with a loud bang, staring furiously at the younger brother, "You," he hissed, "Don't have the right to ask."

Sam's mouth fell open in shock, and he could feel the blood drain from his face. He involuntarily stepped back a step, the back of his knee banging against the closet, "W-What?"

Dean's fist was drawn, and for a second he feared his brother would hit him in the face. He glared angrily, making Sam flinch.

"We have a killer to find," he finally said through clenched teeth.

"Dean…" Sam felt desperate, "Dad wouldn't want-"

Sam cried out in surprise as Dean hurled a vase through the room, shattering it against the wall.

"SHUT UP!" he screamed, "You don't _know_ what Dad would or would not have wanted! Because. You. _Killed_. Him!"

Sam gasped in shock. He could only stare at his brother as he angrily shoved the laptop and case files into a bag. His heart froze as Dean strode to the door. For a second, the two brothers looked each other in the eye, lost in an angry, wordless conversation. Then the door slammed shut behind Dean and Sam was still frozen to the spot, listening to the deep rumble of the Impala as Dean drove her into the night.

Dean blamed him.

He was breathing hard as he stumbled into the bathroom. He stared at the ghostly reflection of himself in the mirror, looking scared and wide-eyed.

Dean _blamed_ him.

He could barely breathe, and he choked on half suppressed sobs as he threw some water in his face, hiding from his reflection.

_Dean blamed him._

He cried silently, gripping the sink with both hands. His tears mingled with the water he'd thrown in his face, hiding them. He wished Dean would come back in, dad in tow, yelling '_April's fool'_. But he didn't.

He brushed his hand over his face and through his hair, taking a deep, shaking breath. He closed his eyes as he pushed himself upright, not quite ready yet to face himself in the mirror. For a moment, he just stood there, breathing with his eyes closed. When he opened his eyes, he jolted. Behind him, he could see someone standing. He held his breath, afraid to move. It wasn't Dean.

The person didn't seem hostile though. He just stood there. He was kind of fuzzy, like an image shot with an old camera having focalize-problems. The man – he was fairly certain it was a man – moved and he smelled leather and gun oil. Sam's eyes widened.

"Dad?" he whispered, turning around. There was no one there, "Dad?"

He ran out of the bathroom, his head desperately whipping back and forth, "Dad!"

But his father wasn't there. He ran back into the bathroom, skidding to a halt in front of the mirror. It was empty, except for him.

"God," he whispered, clapping his hands over his face, "I'm losing my mind."

Dean was furious as he drove out of the parking lot. Just hearing his brother say 'dad' made his anger and grief explode. The word 'dad' made him feel as if he'd been hit by a train. He pulled over at the nearest bar, taking his bag with him. He _needed_ to work on this hunt. Sam didn't understand.

Dad would have wanted them to finish this hunt. He knew that was what his father would have wanted. It was what _he_ wanted. He needed it.

He sat down in a corner and ordered a beer. As he opened the laptop and went over all his recordings on the hunt again, he felt the frustration build. He needed to hunt, he needed to find this killer and punish it. If he didn't focus on the hunt, he'd get lost inside the black void in his heart and die. He was all alone in this. The hunt was the last thing that connected him to his dad. And Sam…

He didn't want to think about Sam right now.

God, he missed his father.

"Where's the link?" he mumbled, going over his notes again and again, "C'mon baby, don't fail me now."

He needed to find the link, the missing piece of the puzzle. Nightmares were plaguing him and he was scared to death to just wake up in the morning and face another day alone. His foot was jumping up and down nervously. He needed this to keep himself alive.

_Sam…_

He screamed in frustration as he didn't find what he was looking for, angrily swiping his stuff of the table. It felt almost satisfying, seeing the papers fall to the floor, the laptop crash with a loud bang. He was panting and he suddenly realized how everyone had fallen silent and was now staring at him.

"What?!" he yelled, "What are you all staring at?"

A few people quickly looked away, the more shameless of them didn't. He felt lightheaded as he glared back at them. He needed to get out of here and calm down.

Now.

* * *

**How are you all liking it so far? The action and drama is going to pick up from now on. I promise :)**

**I'm a bit late, but I was at the coast with my parents and I came home late tonight ;) On the bright side: the chapter is longer than the last two ;)  
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**Thank you for all of your lovely reviews and alerts :D  
**

**Btw, can anyone explain the difference between 'maybe' and 'perhaps'? Because it translates the same to my language and I've been wondering about this for a very long time (and hoping I instinctively use it right ^^ )  
**

**Oh, and speaking of me not being a native speaker, if (when ^^) you notice any mistakes, feel free to point them out ^^  
**

**Good night my lovelies! Don't forget to leave a review, because I LOVE them :D  
**

**- Lune x  
**


	5. Of Jess and Connie

**Chapter 5: Of Jess and Connie**

Sam lay on the bed with his eyes closed. His head was vaguely hurting. Enough to annoy him, but not quite bad enough to take something for it. He breathed out with a sigh, chewed on his bottom lip. He felt kind of lost, as if he were out of place. As if he were supposed to be somewhere, but he couldn't think of where it was he was supposed to be. He listened to sounds of dripping water in the bathroom. Something warm and wet fell on his face and his heart stopped.

He knew what this meant and he was afraid to open his eyes as another drop landed between his eyes.

His eyelids fluttered open and he let out a strangled moan, "Jess."

His pretty blonde girlfriend was hanging above him, pressed against the ceiling. Her nightgown had been ripped open, and blood was gushing down from the major slash in her stomach. She was crying, a terrified look in her eyes, begging him to save her. But he was paralyzed, was only able to lie on his back and stare at his girlfriend in horror as her blond curls set on fire, crackling around her face like a sick kind of halo.

"Sam," she sobbed, her hysterical voice slicing through him like knives, "Help me! Sam!"

She writhed in pain, tried to escape the licking flames that had now reached her nightgown. The smell of burning flesh reached his nose.

"Sam, please," her tears evaporated before they could fall and her face twisted in horror and pain and he couldn't recognize her anymore as her flesh burned red.

"_SAAAAAAAM_!"

She shook her head and relaxed a little, and her face cleared. Mom was staring back at him from the ceiling, flames eating away her bloody nightgown.

"Sammy," she whispered, "You were supposed to save her."

The sad look in her eyes tore his heart out, woke him from his terrified paralysis.

"No!" he cried, and he shot up from the bed, reached up to the ceiling, "Mom, _no_!"

He could almost touch her hair, curling down her face as the fire crackled around her, seared his face.

"It should have been you," she mumbled, and turned away her head in shame. When he could finally touch her burning hair, he burned his fingers as her hair let loose from her face, whirling down around him. He suddenly realized the furniture around him was on fire. But he couldn't find it in him to care. All he could think was '_I have to save her_'.

"I'm sorry," he cried, "I'm sorry, mommy…" he felt like a terrified baby again, watching his mother burn above him, unable to do anything as her skin peeled away from her face, revealing the ugly red behind the soft peach, "Mommy…"

"This is your fault," a much deeper voice answered and he screamed as his father stared down at him, his face almost unrecognizable, "Your fault!"

"I hate you!" Dean sobbed from the bathroom door, and he whipped his head around so fast, he could feel something snap, "You killed them! You killed them!"

The room was on fire and the bed he was standing on was on fire and _Dean_ was on fire, a mighty warrior with flames dancing around him like powerful snakes, lions maybe. Dancing, dancing.

But Dean was not a mighty warrior. He was his _brother_, and he was on fire and he was in pain, screaming '_I hate you! I hate you!'_ as his clothes melted into his skin, and then his skin melted away as he shook and writhed.

"Murderer," a soft whisper behind him, breathing into his ear with a singing heat. He turned around and Jess' soft lips caught his, breathing fire into his mouth and his body, leaving him burning, but not with desire.

"It should have been you," she breathed, and he could hear their voices echoing around the room, "Really…"

And then she pushed him and he fell into a bottomless pit, watching the licking flames close around his family members to eat them alive.

And then he woke up in his own bed, panting. He shot upright, looked around, saw Dean asleep in the bed next to him and burst out crying. He stumbled into the bathroom, trying not to wake Dean and slid down to the floor against the closed door, sobbing. He hadn't turned on the light, afraid to see his image in the mirror. He had killed his family.

When, much later, he crawled back in bed, he knew Dean was awake and watching him. He had returned a few hours after he'd left and neither of them had spoken to each other. He was glad Dean didn't say anything now either. He pulled the sheets over him and watched Dean as he watched him. Neither of them spoke, and after a while, he could see Dean's eyes drooping, before his breath evened out and he fell back asleep. Sam wished he could go back asleep as well, but he was too scared to.

He didn't need any more reminders of his failures.

* * *

Dean woke up again around 8 in the morning. By then, Sam had already showered and gotten dressed, and he'd been researching listlessly. He didn't really feel like it since… dad. He knew dad probably would have wanted them to solve the case, but he just couldn't. Working on it left him feeling lost and alone. It made him realize he was truly alone.

Maybe everyone was alone. They just didn't realize it yet.

Sam waited while Dean showered and then they drove off, still not speaking to each other. Dean pulled over by a small diner, where they'd eaten a few times before. It was quiet in the diner. There was a family with 3 young children eating pancakes in one of the booths. The mother, who seemed to be pregnant again, was leaning on her hand, still half asleep while feeding her youngest. An elder couple was eating in another booth. A businessman in a grey suit was reading the paper while sipping from his coffee. A dirty, homeless woman was talking to one of the staff, while nibbling on a slice of bread.

"What can I get you boys today?" Sally, the sizeable, black owner of the diner smiled down at them. She was in her late forties and a kind, motherly figure. She had raised 5 daughters, and had told them about the eldest being pregnant again the first time they'd been here for food.

"Coffee, black," Dean grumbled, "And waffles."

"Sure thing, honey," she smiled and looked questioningly at Sam.

"Just coffee."

She nodded and disappeared. If Dean cared he only had coffee, he didn't say anything about it. They had breakfast in silence and when Sam looked at Dean as he pushed away his half eaten plate, he realized how much he really missed his brother. He sighed and Dean looked up. He shook his head and they got out of their booth.

"He's coming," the homeless lady he'd seen earlier had grabbed his arm, and looked at him with wide, confused eyes. Her grip was painful and he feared the wild, confused look in her eyes. From up close, he could see she wasn't so old, maybe 30. Her hair was a dirty shade of brown, hiding her grey eyes with its blown pupils.

"He's coming!" she screamed, shaking him, "He's coming! You know he's coming!"

Dean stepped forward, laying a hand on the woman's arm, "Listen lady-"

"You can see him too!" she shrieked, and everyone fell silent. Dean let go of her arm, as if she'd burned him. She made an awful choking noise and her grip became even tighter. For a moment he was afraid she would break his arm. Her whole body twitched and she threw back her head, howling in pain. She was panting when her head snapped forward again and blood spurted from her nose onto her clothes and onto Sam.

"He's…" she gurgled, her eyes slid half close, before she started blinking rapidly. She stumbled forward as her eyes rolled up and bloody tears ran down her face.

"He's…" she repeated, blood now leaking from her ears as well. She pitched forward, gurgling, before a fountain of blood spouting from between her lips. The choking noises she was making were bone-chilling. As in a daze, he could hear the children he'd noticed earlier cry. Finally, she let go of him and fell to the floor, her whole body convulsing as the blood pumped from her body and onto the black and white checkered floor. No one moved as the woman choked on her own blood, convulsing until finally she lay still, covered in blood, her eyes half lid.

She was dead.

For a few long seconds, no one spoke a word or moved a muscle, except for the freaked out children, who were wailing loudly. Then, everyone moved at once. The well-suited man left the diner in a hurry and one of the waitresses fell to her knees next to the body, crying "Connie!" as she shook the woman. Sally was suddenly in his face, pushing him backwards onto a chair. His head was spinning.

"Sit down, son," she mumbled, "Don't look at it."

He realized he was shaking like a leaf, unable to look away from the bloody mess on the diner floor. Dean was pushing the waitress away and was poking at the body. Another waitress was throwing up behind the counter. It all seemed weirdly unreal, like he wasn't really there.

Dean shot him a look, as if he wanted to tell him something, but he didn't understand what it could mean. His hearing was distorted, as if he were underwater, and he was slightly dizzy.

"Damn," Sally sighed to the elder man who'd left his wife in their booth, "Doesn't this remind you of poor Frankie?"

"Who's Frankie?" Dean asked.

"Our local junkie," Sally sighed, "He was a good kid, but he got into some deep shit. Drugs ruin your life," she shook her head, "He died a few weeks ago in the supermarket. Overdose, they said. But I tell you, Connie wasn't on drugs, and their deaths are scarily alike."

"Frankie was spurting blood while he died?"

"Blood and nonsense."

Dean nodded and made his _I-don't-like-what-I'm-finding-_face. He looked over at Sam again.

"Let's go."

Sam wanted to get up and follow his brother, he really did, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. Dean was already half out of the door when he realized Sam wasn't following. He turned around and threw him a mildly annoyed look. Sally looked from one brother to another, before she helped Sam up. He stood on shaky legs as he thanked her and stumbled out after Dean. When he looked down at himself, he realized he was covered in Connie's blood, and he felt sick. He brushed his trembling hands through his hair.

"There was something in her ears," Dean said, after Sam had closed the door of the car.

"Yeah," he breathed, "Blood."

"No," Dean sounded frustrated, "Something else. Some kind of thick, yellow pus."

"… yellow pus?"

"Yeah."

They were both silent for a few seconds.

"I need a shower," Sam finally said. Dean glanced his way.

"We need to investigate this," he pressed. Sam sighed and turned his head towards his window.

"Sam!" Dean almost snapped, "This is important. People are dying, we need to investigate this."

"Maybe it's nothing," Sam countered, "Maybe the authorities were right and Sally was wrong? Maybe they just overdosed."

"You believe that ridiculous cover-up story?" Dean sounded incredible, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Sam's mouth snapped shut as he sank lower in his seat, not answering his brother's question. They both knew what was wrong with him. It was the same thing that was wrong with Dean, only Dean hadn't murdered his entire family. Dean was the only true victim here.

When they entered their motel room, Dean started the laptop and began researching as Sam grabbed some clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. It would be his second shower in less than 3 hours, and he only hoped there would be some hot water left. He was grateful for it when he stepped under the warm stream and for a few minutes, he let the hot water rinse away the bad memories. Then he grabbed a washcloth and soap and tried to wash away Connie's blood.

He washed his hair again, not because it was dirty, but because he needed it. He closed his eyes as the water ran over his face and hair, rinsing out the shampoo. It was nice and soothing. It almost felt like home.

He opened his eyes to shut of the shower and froze. The water wasn't clear as it came gushing out of the nozzle. No, it was bright red and had that stark coppery smell to it.

Blood.

There was blood coming out of the shower.

He panicked and almost slipped in his haste to get out from under it. He almost screamed for Dean, but he could stop himself right before his brother's name rolled of his tongue. He choked on the realization that he had been showering in _blood_.

But when he blinked, he was clean. The water was still running, but it was just that. Water. There was no blood in the tub, or in his skin. He blinked in confusion, not understanding what was going on. His headache spiked, and he grabbed his head and the sink in the same motion, to keep from faceplanting.

It had been a hallucination.

He was losing his mind. Was this stress over losing his father and not getting enough sleep? His headache made him groan.

God, he hoped this wasn't a new form of his Shining. The visions had been bad enough.

He hurriedly got dressed, eager to get out of the bathroom. Dean threw him a strange look and frowned.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes narrowing a little. Sam took a deep, shaky breath.

"N-nothing."

He could see Dean didn't believe him, but he shrugged.

"I found something," he said instead, changing subjects, "On the Connie-case."

Sam sat down on his bed, wanting to lie down and go to sleep. He was terrified of the nightmares, though.

"I've found more than 100 similar cases," now that got his attention.

He threw Dean a confused look, "You're kidding, right?"

"Unfortunately not," he pursed his lips, tiredly rubbed a hand over his face, "The last 30 year, several people per year have died like this."

"And no one figured out there was a pattern?" he could barely hide the surprise in his voice. Dean shook his head.

"They were all people on the streets: junks, prostitutes, homeless people, runaways,… These people wouldn't be missed. They blame it on some sort of street disease, like TBC or something."

"This ain't TBC," Sam answered.

"Nope."

"What is it then?"

"Do I look like I know?" Dean snapped. Sam shut up and both brothers fell silent for a moment.

"It's not the same thing as what's attacking those women in the hospital, is it?" Sam finally asked.

"No," Dean shook his head, "There's two different monsters terrorizing this city."

"Well," Sam let himself fall on his back, "Shit."

* * *

**Thank you all for your wonderful reviews and explanations on the difference between perhaps and maybe ;) turns out there isn't one ^^ I always used it as synonyms, wondering if maybe there was a difference and I was just doing it wrong at the same time ;) **

**As you've now read chapter 5, do you feel like I should change the rating to M? The rest of the story will be in this bloody and somewhat gore style :) (I originally wanted to make a real horror story from this one, but then I realized I missed the scariness of a horror story ;) so it's just a bloody drama/angst :)  
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**Oh, and do you feel like Sam and Dean are too OOC? I'm always afraid I'm making little girls out of them ;)  
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**And for those anonimous guests who pointed out my mistakes: THANK YOU! :) Keep doing that ;)  
**

**See you next week :)  
**

**- Lune x  
**


	6. Of stress and coffee

**Chapter 6: Of stress and coffee**

During the next week, Sam's nightmares grew more violent. Most nights he didn't sleep more than an hour or two, afraid to fall asleep. His sleep deprivation made him cranky and on top of feeling exhausted, his head hurt almost constantly. The massive amounts of coffee he drank left him nauseous and nervous, but it was better than the nightmares. The combination of too little sleep and too much coffee did give him another few 'hallucinations'. Or maybe the blood running from the faucets had just been another manifestation of his Shining.

Dean didn't sleep much either, Sam noticed. He spent most hours of the day – and night – working on the case and he'd interviewed more people on his own than they usually did combined. They ate and slept together, but tried to avoid each other as much as possible in between. When they were together, the atmosphere was tense and heavy and usually Dean ran out to do more research or interviews.

Sam tried to work on the case, but he was tired and upset and he found himself wishing more than once they could just leave. Call another hunter and let them finish the job. But Dean would never agree, definitely not now. Since their father's dead, his interest in the hunt was almost obsessive. There were moments he was genuinely afraid of his brother.

Now was one of these moments.

Sam came out of the bathroom with a cold washcloth pressed against the back of his neck. His head was pounding again and it was hard to see straight. Hoping the washcloth would make him feel better, he sat down on his bed and looked over at his brother. They hadn't spoken in over a day and Dean was staring at the computer screen with squinted eyes. He looked pale and tired, with dark bags under his eyes and the nervous drumming of his fingers against the tabletop – a result of too much coffee and too little sleep – was making Sam want to scratch his own eyes out, in the hope that would relieve his headache.

Dean cursed loudly and flung dad's journal through the room. The loud shattering of glass as it hit the bedside lamp cut through Sam's head like knives and he cringed. Dean cursed again.

"Dean," Sam's voice was barely louder than a whisper, "Calm down,…"

Dean's head snapped towards him and he glared at him. There was ice in his voice as he hissed: "Don't you tell me to calm down."

Sam sighed, "I'm just worried about you, man…" he said, "You need to take it easy. Look at yourself! This isn't healthy."

"Like you're the poster boy for health," Dean mocked, "Don't tell me what to do, _Sam_. I'm doing something useful here. _I_ am trying to save innocent people's lives. What are you doing, huh?"

Sam didn't answer and Dean continued, panting angrily, "You're doing _nothing_! You're brooding and hoping someone else will clean up your mess!"

Sam shook his head and closed his eyes. He realized that Dean missed dad. His big brother was lost without him. They both were.

"Dean, we need to talk about this," he whispered

"About _what_, Sam?" Dean snapped, glaring daggers at his little brother, "There's nothing to talk about. I'm _working_, trying to save people's lives. All _you_ do is wallow in self-pity. _You_ couldn't care less if those poor women lived or died."

"Dean… please… I know you're hurting, God, so am I… Please, please, talk to me. You don't have to suffer alone."

"_Talk to you?_" Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously, "What do you want me to say, Sam? This isn't about me at all, is it?! This is about _you_, hoping I'll make it better for you. Well, newsflash Sam: you _killed_ him! You murdered your own father! There are no words that can make it better. For god's sake, grow up, Sam! _You killed dad_! Now you'll have to learn to live with the consequences."

Sam felt like he'd taken a physical punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and dizzy. "No," he whimpered, tearing up, "No… no… _Dean_…" he begged, "I didn't… I didn't have a choice… I couldn't… I didn't…"

"You always have a choice, Sam," Dean said coldly, staring at his brother's pale, crying face.

"I didn't," Sam sobbed, "I didn't…"

"You could have offered to take our place!" Dean yelled, "You could have offered to die and let both me and dad live!"

Sam felt like he was choking, about ready to throw up, "I did…" he whimpered, "They didn't take it. I tried… I tried…"

Dean didn't say anything, just stared at his broken brother. He was breathing hard and his face was so pale he looked on the verge of fainting. He opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut again and closed his eyes for a second or two. Then he briskly turned around, grabbed his leather jacket and slammed the door shut behind him. Sam heard the Impala's engine roar to live and heard her tires squeal as Dean sped off the parking lot. His legs refused to carry his weight any longer and he fell to the floor, his head thumping against the worn down carpet.

"Dean," he whimpered, tears running down his face and into his hair. He rolled onto his back and gasped, staring at the tortured form of his girlfriend as she was pinned against the ceiling. She was crying and blood dripped from the gash in her stomach, thick and warm. He could see her lips moving, but the sound didn't reach his ears. It was muted by the roaring of the fire above him, swallowing the love of his life.

"Sam!" his mother screamed, "Sam!"

"Mary!" his father screamed back, storming into the room. He fell to his knees as he saw his wife, dying against the ceiling.

"Sammy," he whispered, "What have you done?"

Then he got a vacant look in his eyes and Sam watched in horror as his head split in half and blood ran over his face and down his chin. One half slid down and skidded away. A trail of blood ran from his father's mouth and he slumped forward, falling against his terrified son. The fire was burning so bright it hurt his eyes and he couldn't see Jess/Mary anymore. The putrid smell of burning flesh reached his nose and he wailed in pain and loss. The walls were being torn apart, and blood welled from the ruptures, running down the wallpaper thick and slowly, almost tentative, before it came flooding down, washing over the floor. The fire cleared a little and he could see the charred body pinned against. Her head turned towards him and she grinned. He screamed as she let go and came falling down.

And then it was all gone and his head exploded. He screamed in pain, crushing his hands against his temples as his back arched involuntarily. Blood spurted from his nose, covering his hands and arms and he screamed again at the memory it triggered. He was choking on it and he panicked as he couldn't breathe.

He vaguely realized someone had entered the room and was crouching next to him, before he gave into the pain and everything faded to black.

* * *

When he woke up, he was alone. He pushed himself up from the floor and looked around in a daze. There was blood on the floor and he realized that was his. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he wondered what the hell was happening to him. Back at Stanford he had read that lack of sleep and too much stress could cause hallucinations. Dehydration had the same effect. And coffee tended to dehydrate you.

God, he was a mess.

He stumbled into the bathroom and drank a few sips of water to clear the metallic taste of blood from his mouth. Gently, he washed the dried blood from his face, before returning from the bathroom and trying to scrub the blood out of the carpet. He was still in a daze.

His daze didn't clear until the door opened again, two days later, and Dean waked back in. Both brothers looked at each other for a few seconds, before turning away from each other. Sam sat down with a heavy sigh, his head finally clearing. Dean looked tired and worn down, but at least he didn't bring up the fight again. Dean had said some hurtful things, but during the last two days he'd come to realize that they were through. He _had_ hoped that Dean would be able to make it all better. He _had_ been selfish.

He _had_ killed his father.

That thought alone almost sent him to his knees, a weak, blubbering mess.

But Dean didn't bring up the fight again. Instead he said something else, something that shook Sam awake in the blink of an eye.

"I found something," he said, "I've been going through the files on that street disease. All victims had thick yellow sludge around and in their brains."

"… around and in their brains?" Sam repeated weakly, not really understanding.

Dean nodded curtly, "I think it starts as a thin layer over their brains, but as it grows, it eats away the tissue to have more room. It's like a nasty infection."

"What does that?" the lack of sleep was really getting to him as he realized he was getting slower. Dean seemed to realize it too.

"A Ceesje," he said it slowly.

"A quiche? "Sam repeated. His brother gave him a blank look.

"A _Ceesje,_" Dean stressed the word unnecessarily, "is some sort of evil spirit, but not a ghost. To maintain its human form, it needs to suck its victims dry. Like a vampire, only it doesn't drink blood, it drinks their life-force. The yellow slime is some sort of net through which it drains their life-force, until the brain just implodes. That's what we've seen at the diner."

"Their life-force?" Sam repeated.

"Yes, Sam," Dean snapped impatiently, "Their life-force. I don't know how else you could call it, 'cause really, it's their life-force, their energy, their spirit. It's what makes them human."

"And we're sure this isn't the same thing that's attacking the women at the hospital?" Dean's snapping had woken him up some more.

"Yes. The symptoms differ completely."

"Okay," Sam rubbed a hand over his face, "How do we find it?"

"To find a Ceesje, we need to find one of its victims. At a certain point, the victims will feel the presence of the Ceesje. It scares them, so they'll try to get away from it as far as possible. All we have to do is go in the other direction and we'll find the Ceesje."

"Where do we find a victim?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean admitted, "The literature didn't say how the infection spreads or what the symptoms are in a less-advanced stage. All we know for sure is yellow pus and that's not really something you can see with your bare eyes."

"So…" Sam tried to sum it all up in a few words, "Basically, your saying that anyone could be infected?"

"Yes," Dean answered with a sigh, "That's exactly what I'm saying."

* * *

**It's a very short chapter, I know... I didn't have much time to write this week. It was the last week of my internship, (I got graded 8.5 out of 10, so yay me ^^ ) and it was very busy. One of the office managers was ill, so I had to fall in for her and combine that with my internship duties as an account manager and copywriter (in an advertisement bureau, how cool is that ^^). **

**I won't be able to update this story next week, as I'll be visiting the States again :D New Orleans this time, yay ^^ I'm looking forward to it ^^ Anyone know what the must-sees of New Orleans are?  
**

**Thank you for all of your lovely reviews :D They make my day ^^  
**

**Love,  
**

**- Lune x  
**


	7. Of metamorphoses and liabilities

**Chapter 7: Of metamorphoses and liabilities**

After their brief conversation earlier that day, both brothers had retreated back into themselves. Dean was researching, calling other hunters to cross-reference, while Sam tried to help, but mostly just sat there, too tired to think clearly. Now that Dean was back, he was almost brave enough to give in to the lure of sleep. Almost.

A few hours later they were back at Sally's diner for lunch. Sam hadn't eaten here since Dean had walked out on him. He was tired. He was lost.

Sally seemed to notice things weren't going so well between them, and she left them mostly alone, speaking softly and carefully when she asked them if everything was going alright and if she could bring them something else. Sam mostly just shook his head and stared at the table-top. Dean gave her big bright smiles that she didn't buy, his eyes tired and restless, nervous.

Sitting here in Sally's diner in Jirka, Louisiana, with his brother sitting across the table, their feet barely touching whenever one of them shifted, Sam had never felt more alone. If he leant forward, he'd be able to grab Dean's arm, pull him towards him and hide inside his brother's safe arms. Home. But even though his brother was so close to him, the distance between them had never been greater. Not even when he'd run away to Stanford.

He wanted to break down and cry, wanted his brother to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be alright. But that was never going to happen. Not only would it be lies, nothing would ever be all right again, Dean and he were also too much at odds right now for his brother to comfort him. They were both exhausted, reeling from their father's death.

He didn't think he could do this much longer.

He watched his brother push his sausages around on his plate, the sickly sweet smell of ketchup assaulting him. He took a deep breath through his mouth. Dean didn't look up to him as he pushed his fries into the ketchup-lake on his plate, nibbled on one for a moment.

"You've got some ketchup on your chin," Sam's voice was barely louder than a whisper. For a moment, he didn't think Dean had heard him. Then, Dean's hand came up to his face to brush over his chin. The red spot stayed untouched and both brothers frowned, Dean staring at his hand, Sam staring at his face.

"Are you trying to be funny here, Sam?" Dean sighed, "Trying to lighten up the mood? 'cause seriously… save it."

The little red spot on Dean's chin grew bigger, as if alive. The roaring in his ears blocked out the words Dean was still speaking. Like a blister, the spot burst open, revealing red flesh, curling over at the sides as it was pulled open, growing bigger and bigger. It reached Dean's still moving lips and sound returned with a bang, leaving Sam breathless.

"… -lly _Sam_, I think you should-"

A glass fell to the ground at the counter, shattering over the tiles in a rainbow of noise. A man burst out laughing, deep and throaty. A small child was wailing in its seat, demanding ice-cream. The couple behind him was fighting over whether or not they should tell her husband about the affair.

The flesh from Dean's face was being further pulled back, revealing his bony nose and the muscles in his cheeks.

Sam gripped the table with both hands, hanging on for dear life. He could feel the blood drain from his own face as he watched Dean's horrifying metamorphosis. His left eye spasmed as his headache spiked. He should get some water in him. Dehydration caused hallucinations.

His hand shot out towards where he knew his glass was, knocking it over in the process. Dean jumped up with a startled curse as his water ran over the table like an ever-growing puddle of blood. The diner fell silent and he could hear the water dripping off the table and onto the checkered tiles.

He was so tired.

There wasn't much left of Dean's face, and Sam felt dizzy at the sight. Something warm trickled out of his nose and over his mouth and something seemed to change in Dean's face. His brother was suddenly in his face, grabbing his chin with one hand and his shoulder with the other.

"Geez, Sam," Dean breathed, grabbing some napkins and pressing them against Sam's bleeding nose. He almost gently tipped Sam's head slightly backwards. The glaring lights above Dean's head blinded him, making him feel lightheaded and dizzy. His eyes fluttered close and he was glad he could escape the view. For a moment, he wished he were blind.

"Shit! Sam?" Dean's grip tightened painfully, "Stay with me, okay?"

His brother tossed some money on the table and hauled him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed. He guided him out of the diner by his elbow, his other hand firmly holding the napkins under his brother's nose, pushing him down into the passenger's seat of the Impala, the souls of his shoes tiredly leaning on the concrete.

"Sam…" Dean muttered and he opened his eyes, because he sounded so close and hopeless. His face was back to normal and he breathed out in relief. Dean's hand was resting on his forehead, frowning.

Maybe it were visions after all. He sure felt as if he'd just been hit by one. The headaches and dizziness had always been symptoms. But he didn't understand what it was the visions were trying to tell him then. None of it made sense. Was he supposed to save Dean? Was something going on with Dean?

"When was the last time you slept?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged. His hand came up to his face and cold, numb fingers took over the bloody napkins. He rested his head against the seat, staring up at his brother. Dean was staring back at him, an empty look on his face.

"I don't know," Sam whispered. Dean sighed, rubbed a hand over his face.

"Get in the car," he finally said, getting into the driver's seat and starting the engine. Sam tiredly pulled his legs in the car with him and closed his door with a bang. He could feel Dean flinch next to him. He closed his eyes for a brief second, trying to escape reality.

The next thing he knew, Dean was shaking him awake. He blinked blearily, glancing at his brother, who'd already exited the car and was walking towards their motel room. Sam followed with lead in his shoes.

"Get some sleep," Dean said gruffly, sitting down at the little table and opening several case-files. Sam could see pictures of dead women and swallowed.

"Seriously, Sam," Dean repeated, pointing towards the bed, "You need to sleep. You're a liability if you let yourself get this exhausted."

_Liability._

That was really all Sam could hear and it bounced around his skull over and over again.

_You're a liability._

_I hate you, Sam… and if you don't save dad…_

_If you don't save dad…_

Sam stumbled towards the bed and sank down heavily. He stared at his brother with tears in his eyes, brushing them away angrily.

"Sam!" Dean snapped, annoyed, "sleep!"

He nodded slowly, resting his head on his pillow and pulling his knees to his chest. He was afraid to close his eyes, afraid to dream again, but the pull of sleep was too strong and he lost the fight within seconds. He was so tired he barely realized he dreamt. Dean and dad were there and they were mad at him, but it didn't really sink in.

He woke with a start and the lingering feeling of a nightmare, without the memory of it. He pushed himself into a sitting position and glanced at his brother, still perched over the stack of open case-files. He felt better rested than he'd done in weeks. He was still tired, but it wasn't as bone-deep anymore. His headache had all but disappeared, only a faint pounding left behind his temple. His upset stomach had somewhat settled and for the first time in days, he almost felt human again.

His brother looked up at him and motioned for him to come closer. He rubbed his hand in his eyes and let himself fall into the chair next to Dean.

"How long was I out?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse. Dean shot him a glance as he cleared his throat.

"Few hours," he answered in a voice that implied _not long enough_, and pointed to the files, "While you were napping… I think I found something."

Sam frowned, not seeing the link Dean had made. Dean shook his head.

"Look at these files, Sam," Dean said, "What do they all have in common?"

He squinted his eyes, really wanted to see what Dean had seen. But in all honesty, he had barely had the energy to really look into the case, and his brain had been so muddy, so tampered with guilt and exhaustion that he didn't remember much of what he'd read and looked up. This was entirely Dean's case, he realized with a guilty jolt, "I don't know."

"C'mon Sam," Dean pushed, exasperated, shoving the open files towards his brother, "Just look. Look at their medical files… look at their pictures…"

"I don't…" Sam started again. Dean interrupted him with a loud sigh and snagged the pictures back, laying them next to each other for a clear view.

"Look at their boobs, Sam," he said, sounding mildly annoyed. Sam's eyes snapped to his brother, uncertain if he'd really heard Dean say that, or if he was hearing things again.

"Is this really the best time to look at dead women's breasts?" he asked softly, carefully. Dean sighed again and Sam cringed slightly.

"They all have breast implants," Dean said, pointing at their pictures, "And they all had their surgery in the same clinic. Don't you think that's worth checking out?"

Sam blinked at his brother's words, "They all had their breast enlargement at the same clinic? How did we not notice this any sooner? How many doctors work there?"

He knew why _he_ hadn't noticed it sooner. But Dean should have noticed.

Dean seemed to think the same thing, took Sam's words as an assault and became defensive, yanking the picture Sam had been holding out of his hands, "Not all files mentioned they've had boob jobs. I didn't know, didn't notice until yesterday ago. Then I still had to look up where they've had them. It could have been coincidence."

It should have been coincidence. It could still be.

"You think the surgeons did it?" Sam asked quietly. Dean shrugged.

"There's one head surgeon, three assistants, a receptionist and I don't know how many patients," Dean answered, "and that's without the possibility that it could be something outside the clinic, something that just holes up in the neighborhood. It could be that the clinic is just its hunting ground. It's not necessarily someone from within their network."

"But it could be."

"Yes, it could be," Dean answered, "We need to research some more. But I think it's worth paying the clinic a visit. Maybe someone's seen something suspicious."

"Maybe someone will step forward as the killer," Sam said. Dean frowned and didn't laugh at his little joke. Neither did Sam. It had been a bad joke. He was still tired.

"It's too late now," Dean said, "but tomorrow morning, we're checking it out."

It was another sleepless night for Sam. Though he'd fallen asleep at a certain point, he'd woken up screaming less than an hour later. He wondered if maybe there was a drug that would give him dreamless sleep. He was so tired of the nightmares.

"You look awful," Dean said in the morning, after which they both shut up until they pulled up in front of the clinic. They parked at the far end of the parking lot, and Sam looked worriedly at the thick grey clouds covering the sky. The clinic was a blue house, not small, but not large either, with white widows and red flowers under the window sills. There were large trees surrounding the building, rustling in the wind. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dean make a face.

"Hi there!" the man behind the counter greeted them as they entered the building, "Can I help you?"

The man was in his late twenties, maybe Dean's age, wearing a thick pair of glasses and a name-tag that read 'Andrew'. His hair was short and brown and for a moment, Sam was surprised that they'd put a guy like him behind the counter of a plastic surgeon and not a young, beautiful goddess with long blond hair, big blue eyes and lips as red as the flowers under the window-sills. But maybe a woman like that would make the other patients feel uncomfortable with their own appearance.

But wasn't that sort of the point of a plastic surgeon?

"We'd like to see Doctor Charles Fuller?" Dean hesitated on the name, peaking at his papers.

"Do you have an appointment?" Andrew asked. Dean shook his head and took out his CDC badge, holding it up for Andrew to see it.

"Oh," the man's face fell slightly and he looked a little confused, "Of course Doctor Chase, I'll see what I can do."

He got up from behind his desk and knocked on the door to his left, before disappearing through it. He stayed gone for a few minutes, giving Dean and Sam the chance to look around in the waiting room. There was a woman with large burn marks covering half of her face, and he understood why she would want to visit a plastic surgeon. A man with a crooked nose was looking at them curiously. The girl next to him had wrapped her arms protectively around her breasts, maybe afraid that people would laugh at them if she didn't hide them. A man was talking to a small child in his lap, who had a big birthmark covering its neck and disappearing into its shirt. An expressionless woman, looking like a wax figure, was reading a book.

"Doctor Fuller is ready to see you now," Andrew came back and sat himself behind his desk, looking around the waiting room to make sure everyone was comfortable.

"Thanks, Andy," Dean said. The man scowled slightly, and Sam could swear he could hear him mutter 'It's Andrew'. That almost made him smile.

A middle-aged man was sitting behind a large wooden desk. His graying hair was combed back and his eyes were kind, yet professional. There were large medical posters against the walls that left the brothers feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"How can I help you boys?" Doctor Fuller asked.

"I'm Dean, this is my partner Sam," Dean said, "we work for the CDC and we're investigating the recent deaths of about 30 women."

"Yes," Doctor Fuller nodded, "I read about that in the paper. Please, have a seat."

"We found a few interesting things, Doctor Fuller," Dean said suggestively. The doctor held up his hand.

"Charlie," he interrupted.

"_Charlie_," Dean repeated, "Well, as I was saying, we found a few interesting things."

"Such as?" Charlie asked friendly.

"All victims were patients of yours."

Charlie paled visibly, gripping his desk with one hand. His mouth fell open and for a second he stared at the brothers, as if he didn't comprehend what they were saying.

"What?" he finally asked, "That's… how is that possible?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Dean said.

"God," Charlie sank back in his chair and brushed a hand through his hair, messing it up, "This is horrible. Are you certain they're my patients? I mean… not just one or two of my patients… but all of them?"

"I'm afraid so," Dean seemed a little uncertain as he pulled out the list of names and shoved them towards Charlie.

Charlie grabbed it with two hands, crumping the piece of paper in the process, "Yes…" he breathed, "Yes, they're all patients here."

He clasped his hands over his face.

"Whatever you need," he said solemnly, when he'd recomposed himself, "You name it, I'll help you with it. I don't understand how this is possible."

"Did you perform the surgery on all these women?" Dean asked. Charlie went over the list again, shaking his head.

"No," he answered, "At least half of these were done by my assistants. I was always present, though."

"Can you give me their names and phone numbers and addresses, so we can contact them?"

"Of my assistants? Of course," he grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something down, "Lisa is scheduled for this afternoon, so if you want to question her, you can come back later today. Janice and Tom are on duty tomorrow. Or I can just call them in, tell them they have to come right now."

Dean glanced at his brother and frowned a little, "No, it's fine. We'll come back later today. Maybe tomorrow. Thanks for your help and time."

"Of course," Charlie nodded and offered his hand. They both shook it, "I hope you'll find a way to stop it. I also hope to God they haven't gotten the infection here. I'll need to tell Andrew to re-sterilize the entire OK. Maybe buy in some new things. No, I need to call the hospital, ask them if they have a spare OK. I can't perform surgeries in here if it's here they got infected. I'll also take samples of my materials, send them to the lab to have them examined to see if the bacteria really comes from my practice."

"Thank you," Dean repeated, more sincerely this time. Both brothers stood and the three of them exited the doctor's examination room.

"Andrew," they heard Charlie say, "Cancel all my appointments for today. It's an emergency."

Sam pulled the door closed behind them and he could feel the doctor's worried stare through the glass. It had started raining while they were inside, and Dean held his hands over his head in an attempt to keep his hair dry. Sam stood frozen as he saw the drops land on his hand.

Blood.

For a moment, he thought he had another nosebleed, but when he looked up and around, he realized that it was everywhere, covering the other cars and the clinic and even his brother. He swallowed loudly, pinching his own arm.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, looking over his shoulder, dripping wet already, "Hurry up, it's freaking pouring!"

Sam couldn't move, stared at his brother with large, scared eyes.

"C'mon, Sam!" Dean shouted, running back to him, "What's wrong with you?"

His brother grabbed his arm and pulled him in motion. Sam moaned as pain flared behind his eyes, and he grabbed his head, stumbling forward.

"Sam?" Dean asked tentatively. Blood was running over his face, soaking his clothes. He felt dizzy with pain, as a blinding light sliced through his skull and he fell forward, gripping Dean's arm to stay upright. It was slick with blood and he quickly pulled away again, once again bringing his hands to his face, trying to hide from the world. He could hear Dean talking to him, but he couldn't make out the words.

He froze when he saw a man standing next to the impala, watching them. His brain went in overdrive and he could feel his body convulse. Dean was freaking out next to him.

Dad. Dad was there, watching them.

His knees gave out and his body thumped lifelessly against the wet concrete. Blood was swirling around him, bubbling. Alive.

Dean was shaking him, screaming his name. It was like a scene from a horror movie.

"Dad," he whimpered. Dean lost all color in his face and let go of him, staring down at his little brother on the floor. There was a wild look in his eyes, like a caged animal.

"Dad isn't here," he whispered venomously, "Thanks to you."

Sam closed his eyes, the continuous stream of rain hiding the tears that were welling in his eyes. His eyes snapped open again when Dean's hands closed around his biceps, yanking him up in a sitting position, before hauling him to his feet.

"Everyone's staring at you," he hissed, "Stop making such a scene out of yourself."

Dean's grip on his biceps was painful as he led his brother to the car, pushing him in the passenger's seat. Sam watched as Dean stood next to the car for a moment, taking deep breaths, nervously rubbing his hand up and down his face. He noticed Dean's hands were shaking.

They'd been driving for a few minutes when Dean finally broke the silence without looking at his brother.

"What did you see?"

"Wha-?" Sam was confused at his brother's question.

"Your vision," Dean impatiently snapped his fingers, "What did you see?"

Sam turned his head away from his brother, mumbling "It wasn't a vision." At least, he didn't think so.

"Then… what was it?" Dean asked after another moment of silence.

"I'm just… tired," Sam heard the exasperation in his own voice, was ashamed of it, "I haven't been sleeping very well… I'm just so… exhausted…"

_And stressed out,_ he wanted to add. But he didn't, afraid that Dean would see it as a personal attack. Which maybe, in all honesty, it was. Because as much as he was suffering from the fact that it was _his_ fault their father was dead, Dean's behavior didn't help him recover from it. In contrary.

He rested his head against the window and watched the now normal, yet heavy rain. The atmosphere was heavy, tension in every breath they took. For a moment, Sam wondered if things would ever go back to normal. If Dean would ever forgive him for what he'd done.

"Are you up to go to the morgue?" Dean asked, hesitantly, "Or would you rather go back to the motel and rest up?"

Sam hesitated, before answering "Morgue."

When they entered the morgue, a new body was just being rolled in.

"Isn't that Joy?" Sam whispered and when Dean didn't seem to remember, he quickly added, "You talked to her husband. Jared, I think… cried at the end of your interview."

"Oh, yeah… Yeah, I think that might be her."

They watched as the doctor started the autopsy, and Dean got a sickly green color when the doctor sawed her head open, revealing her brain. It looked normal, no yellow slime. But then again, they hadn't expected there to be yellow slime. They knew this wasn't the work of a Ceesje. When Dean suggested they take a look at her implants, the doctor cut her breasts open and pulled the implant out. He examined it, before dumping it in Dean's hands. Dean turned even greener.

"I see nothing wrong with it," the doctor said, poking the jelly substance in Dean's hands, "There's a little leakage here, but that happens every now and then. It's one of the risks of breast implants."

They looked for bite- and scratch marks, for obvious and less obvious bruising that shouldn't be there, for discolorations and any other clue that could lead them to the monster they were hunting, but they found nothing. By the time the doctor left them alone with the body safely tucked in one of the drawers, the brothers were close to despair.

"What if this isn't supernatural at all?" Sam voiced, "What if this _is_ indeed some freak infection. People get sick, Dean. They get sick and they die. That's just part of being human."

Dean shook his head, "No," he said gruffly, "I have a feeling about this one. Plus, the bodies have disappeared. Corpses don't just disappear without a trace."

"So… we wait and see?" Sam pointed to the drawers, "Maybe we can find out where the bodies have gone to?"

Dean nodded and it wasn't before long that both brothers were sitting just out of sight of the body-drawers, waiting for something to happen. Sometimes, a doctor or nurse would walk by them and give them odd looks, but no one said a word.

After a few hours, by the time the sun was starting to set, a strange sound could be heard. Sam was dozing in his chair, woken up by a soft scraping sound. At first, he thought he'd imagined it, but then it sounded again and Dean sat up straighter, intently staring through the glass doors.

Nothing happened.

The scraping sounded again, louder this time, and longer. There was a faint banging and a sigh.

And then the drawer opened, inch per inch. Long fingers curled around the cold metal, polished nails ticking against it. Slowly, the drawer was pushed further open and after the fingers followed a hand, then an arm and finally the upper body of what was once Joy Jenner.

She looked around, as if in a daze and stumbled out of the drawer, falling flat on her face.

She didn't get up for a few minutes. Then, she slowly and shakily pushed herself into a sitting position and back onto her feet. She shuffled towards the door, bumping into one of the equipment carts, sending several scalpels and other things flying.

She didn't even look up from that.

"Zombie?" Dean mouthed. Sam shrugged. She didn't seem to notice them as she shuffled past them and they silently followed her. They had just rounded the third corner, when Sam realized that disaster was about to happen.

And it had nothing to do with Zombie-Joy.

Jess was standing in the middle of the hallway, waving it him and he froze. _Not now_, he pleaded. He placed a hand on the wall to keep himself from falling when he stumbled, and pulled it back with a gasp. Blood was running down the walls, already flooding the floor. Dean and Joy didn't seem to notice, but Sam did.

The blood was already at his ankles when he noticed it was falling from the ceiling as well. The moment it touched his face, he gagged. His headache blinded him and he was dizzy, sick even. He was afraid to look up, afraid to see who would be pinned against the ceiling, there for him to watch them die. Over and over again. But he had to know, even though he didn't want to. He was terrified, squeezing his eyes closed as he raised his face towards the ceiling. He opened his eyes.

There was no one.

He almost laughed in relief, except for the fact that blood was still raining down on him, threatening to drown him. He stumbled forward, intent on not letting Dean know what was going on inside his head. But he didn't make it very far. He was shaking and his head was screaming at him. He pulled his hair and fell against the still bleeding walls, blood spurting out of his own nose. He was so dizzy.

He wanted to cry out for his brother, wanted him to rush over to him and hold him in his arms, make the nightmares go away. He wanted it so bad he almost cried.

Another gulf of pain sliced through his head and he saw white. His legs were made of jelly, barely holding him up. He could hear his own painful gasps and the fast thumping of his heart in his ears. Unable to see, he felt so lost and alone. And he was so cold, he couldn't stop shivering. Another knife was slammed into his brain and he lost sense of which way was up.

"Dean," he cried pathetically. Somewhere along the lines, he knew he was falling. Then, he knew no more.

And he welcomed it.

* * *

**I'm a day late, I'm so sorry! Life's been crazy! **

**So, I visited New Orleans last week with my dad. A-MA-ZING! I had such a good time! And the weather was amazing as well :D One of the best trips EVER! ^^  
**

**I also had surgery last tuesday, which was less amazing.. Nothing too bad, don't worry :) the stitches will be removed tomorrow and hopefully it won't scar too much, because it's in the middle of my face, between my upper lip and my nose. SCARFACE :o  
**

**I went to Walibi on Saturday, which used to be Walibi, then Six Flags, but is now called Walibi again ;) confusing :o But I had a great time, screaming and laughing and more screaming ;) I went with one of my best friends from high school, whom I hadn't seen in over a year.. But the friendship was still just as perfect as I remember it being :)  
**

**So yes, I'm late, but to make it up to you guys, the chapter is almost twice as long as usual :D There was so much I wanted to write, and there were a few points where I thought of stopping the chapter and continuing next week, but I knew that then the chapter next week would be super-short, because where we ended now is where I wanted the chapter all along... if I'm still making sense ;)  
**

**Okay, I'm done rambling now ;)  
**

**Love,  
**

**- Lune x  
**


	8. Of the ugly truth and cabin in the woods

**Chapter 8: Of the ugly truth and the cabin in the woods**

Sam woke up feeling confused. The pain in his head was mostly gone, replaced by a stuffy feeling, as if his head was filled with cotton balls. Somewhere in the distance, something was beeping. His limbs felt tired and heavy and when he tried to move, he realized he wasn't lying on a cold floor, but in a soft bed. Something was poking in his nose.

When he blinked his eyes open, he was confused at the total lack of recognition he had of the room. Looking around, he saw his brother. Dean was sitting in a chair, his eyes closed. He looked tired and sick, slightly nauseous even. He wondered what could have possibly happened for Dean to look so upset.

"Hey," he hoarsely whispered when Dean opened his eyes. His brother fell forward with a gasp, jumping to his feet. His fists clenched and unclenched as he took a shaky breath.

"Hey," he finally answered, swallowing thickly. He grabbed a glass of water and maneuvered the straw to Sam's lips. After he'd taken a few sips, he took it away again.

"You okay?" Sam asked quietly. Dean laughed bitterly, almost maniacally, before falling back into the chair he'd been sitting in.

"_I_ am fine," he said in a shaky voice, rubbing a hand over his face, "You're the one that's in a hospital."

"Oh," Sam murmured, looking away, "What happened?"

"You collapsed while we were following that zombie from the morgue," Dean frowned, looking slightly scared, "You wouldn't wake up. Had to drag you to the ER. You've been unconscious for two days."

"Oh," he said again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean demanded, grabbing Sam's arm. Sam noticed his brother was trembling, "You should have told me."

"Tell you what?" he asked, his feeling of confusion growing. Dean briskly turned around, walking away from him. Sam's pulse sped up, and he tried to push himself into a sitting position.

"Dean!" he cried, _don't leave me_, "Tell you what?"

Dean grabbed something and rushed back to Sam's side, glancing worriedly at the rapidly beeping machine. He held up an x-ray and Sam frowned.

"I don't understand," he whispered, "What _is_ that?"

"Thick slime," Dean's voice was barely louder than a whisper, "Probably yellow."

The room fell silent for a beat or two, before Sam breathed, "I'm infected?"

Dean stared at him, unblinking. He could see his brother swallowing thickly.

"Dean," Sam said, "I didn't know."

"They tried to drain the slime, didn't work… How long has this been going on?" Dean asked, almost harshly. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back to when the hallucinations had started.

"Since… since dad," he whispered, unable to look at his brother. He could hear Dean's sharp intake of breath.

"Dean, I swear I didn't know," he defended himself, "I just thought… I haven't been sleeping well… I thought it was exhaustion… I thought maybe it was stress."

"Stress?" Dean repeated, his voice tense.

"I killed dad," he mumbled miserably. He wanted to hide, bury himself deep under his covers. There, he'd said it. He'd faced the ugly truth. He pulled his sheets higher, trying to disappear underneath them. He was terrified of what would be Dean's next words. He couldn't bear hearing his brother confirm what a monster he was.

"_Sam_…"

Confused at the tone of his voice, Sam glanced at his brother, surprised to see tears well in his eyes. He could hear his brother choking up as he made an odd sobbing sound.

"God, Sammy," Dean's voice was raw with emotion as he grabbed his brother's arm, "God… I'm so sorry… you shouldn't… you didn't," he took another shaky breath before he pulled Sam in his arms, "You didn't kill dad. This was never your fault."

His throat constricted painfully, his heart pumping just a little too fast as he could feel his eyes water. He was breaking before he could stop it and without his own consent, he found himself crying desperately in his brother's arms, clutching his brother's shirt.

"Dean," he sobbed, "I don't understand…"

"I'm so sorry, Sammy," he could feel his brother shaking and his voice was filled with tears, "I was lost. I didn't realize you were too."

Both brothers cried in each other's arms, for the first time in weeks connecting with each other. Although they had hit rock bottom, they both felt hopeful again, for the first time in what felt like forever.

They cried, until they were both too exhausted to shed another tear, and quietly lay in each other's arms, Dean absentmindedly petting Sam's hair.

"So…" Sam finally said, lying back against his pillows, his fingers brushing against Dean's jacket, "I'm next?"

"Not if I can prevent it," Dean answered.

"You think I have some sort of vision-trigger-spot in my brain?" Sam asked, biting his lip.

"What do you mean?"

Sam sighed softly, almost regretting he had said anything at all. He shouldn't burden Dean with this, "I've been having these nightmares and… hallucinations?"

"Hallucinations?" Dean repeated, quirking an eyebrow with a dark look, "Please explain."

"I don't know… I see blood. Like seas of blood and bloody rain and grossly disfigured people," Sam clenched his fist, "And Jess and mom."

"You see Jess and mom?" Dean's mouth fell slightly open.

"And dad," he quickly added, looking away. He could hear Dean's breath hitch.

"So you see dead people walking?" he finally said and Sam recognized Dean's attempt to joke for what it was. His brother was scared.

"I guess," he played with his sheets.

"What do they do?" Dean's hand was warm and calming on his knee.

"They die," Sam whispered, "And they say it's my fault."

"_Sammy_," Dean whispered back, pain in his voice, "It's not. I promise."

Sam didn't answer. Of course it was his fault.

"Sam," Dean pressed, "I swear, man, it's not your fault."

"Whatever," Sam shrugged, and tried to change subjects, "So at least one good thing is coming from this whole situation."

He continued when Dean frowned in confusion, "We now have a victim that can lead us to the Ceesje."

"I wish there was another way," Dean said sourly, not looking happy with the entire situation.

"Me too," he confessed, "But we don't really have a say in this, so we should probably just make the best of it."

"Still don't like it," Dean mumbled, adding in a clearer voice: "You feel anything yet?"

Sam shook his head and both brothers fell silent again for a moment. Sam shifted tiredly in his bed.

"You find anything on those women while I was out?"

"Not really," Dean confessed.

"Can you give me my clothes?" Sam asked, fumbling with the IV in his hand.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on tiger!" Dean grabbed his hand, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Leaving. There's people dying."

"You're not going anywhere," Dean said.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Sam, you're ill. You're freaking _dying_. You're staying here in the hospital until you're better."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sam tore off his heart monitor and a high shrieking sound filled their room, making Dean flinch, "I'm dying anyway. There's nothing we can do to stop that, unless we find that Ceesje and kill it. And we're not even sure that will work. In the meantime, there's still innocent women dying. It's our duty to save them. We owe it to them and to their families. Right now, I'm feeling fine, but who knows what state I'll be in in a few days."

He wanted to say more, but a nurse came flying into their room with a panicked look on her face.

"Oh," she sighed in relief when she saw her patient alive and well, "You're awake. No, honey, you need to leave those on."

She swiftly readjusted the heart monitor and checked a few things, "I'll let the doctor know you're awake."

"I need to leave," Sam said after the nurse had left again, looking directly at his brother, "Sooner rather than later. We need to save them."

"Fine," Dean gave in, "But only if the doctor says you're doing okay. And if you promise to rest at the motel."

The doctor mostly frowned as he examined Sam and it made them nervous. He grumbled things under his breath that they didn't understand and finally he declared that Sam's vitals were okay, but that he didn't like that Sam's brain infection hadn't cleared and that he wanted to keep him in the hospital for another week, in the hope his infection would improve. Dean stressed the point that the doctor had said that Sam should stay and Sam stressed the point that his vitals were good. Sam won the discussion and before Dean could change his mind, they were back at the motel, where Sam fell asleep almost immediately. He didn't know what they had given him at the hospital, but whatever it was, it kept the nightmares at bay and he was grateful for that.

After a few hours Dean woke him up with the news that the hospital had called with the news that another woman he died. They got dressed in silence and drove to the hospital without speaking, but this time, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Sam almost smiled.

They waited at the morgue until after a few hours, the woman climbed out of her drawer and staggered past them. Gun in hand, they followed her out of the hospital.

"Seeing anything, Sammy?" Dean whispered in the dark.

"Nope," he answered, relieved. He'd been fearing the hallucinations would start again as well, but so far, the drugs they'd given him were doing their job. He shot his brother a quick grin, glad they were talking again. Things weren't exactly as they used to be, but at least they were better than during the last few weeks.

"Where is she going?" Dean asked as she disappeared into the woods. Sam shrugged and Dean ushered him to go faster. He grimaced and cursed when a branch hit him in the face.

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean said, before his brother could laugh.

"Dean…"

"I said shut up."

"No seriously," Sam sounded serious and Dean stopped walking, "Look."

He pointed and Dean cursed again when he saw what his brother was pointing at, "A hunting cabin?"

"I don't know," Sam answered, "Probably."

They watched as the girl stumbled forward, raising her hand to knock on the door. There was a flickering light behind the window and there was smoke coming from the chimney. Two other women walked towards her and they were led into the house by a fourth woman with bushy brown hair.

"What the hell is going on here?" Sam mumbled. He was answered by a high shriek and both brothers turned around in unison, guns raised. Dean fired, his bullet entering her torso and the shrieking redhead faltered for a moment, before she slammed a thick branch against the side of Dean's head with a crazed look in her glazed eyes. Sam watched in horror as Dean's eyes rolled up in his head and he bonelessly sagged to the ground.

She shrieked again, long and loud and he pulled the trigger. And again. And again. The first bullet hit her in the throat, causing her to make a gurgling sound. No blood welled from the wound though. His second bullet missed. The third one penetrated her eye, burying itself deep inside her brain. Her eyes flickered and she looked at him with an empty, sort of confused look in her remaining eye. Then it was lights out completely and she too collapsed. This time, she was dead for good.

"_Dean_," he pressed a shaking hand against his brother's neck, afraid of what he would find. He breathed in relief when he found the strong pulse. He grabbed his brother's shoulders and shook him, eliciting a moan from the older man. Blood ran along his temple and into his hair and Sam grimaced as he saw the cut in his temple.

"Dean," he said urgently, shaking his brother a little harder, "Wake up!"

"Sammy," his brother mumbled, tossing his head from side to side.

"Hey-hey-hey, it's okay," he smiled down at Dean as Dean blinked his eyes open, "Hey. Welcome back to the land of living."

"Sammy," Dean breathed, his eyes growing wide in confusion and pain, "Behind you!"

Sam turned his head just in time to see Joy Jenner slam down a rock against his skull.

* * *

**First of all: I'm terribly sorry for the delay! I've been having computer and internet issues. I hope these are fixed now :)**

**Quick question: who saw it coming that Sam was infected by the Ceesje? Most of you, I'm guessing :p  
**

**Any guesses on what's about to happen next and who/what they'll be fighting? ^^  
**

**Reviews encourage me :) Think we can hit 60 reviews by next chapter? Or is that just wishful thinking? ^^  
**

**Love,  
**

**- Lune x  
**


	9. Of jerks and bitches

**Chapter 9: Of jerks and bitches**

Something was trying to break free from his skull, was hammering on the thick bone until it would crack and the thing could escape, roam the earth and cause mayhem and chaos. Confused, he tried to lift his head and he moaned in pain as someone stabbed a knife through it.

Maybe he should just go back to sleep…

* * *

When he woke up again, something was squeezing his eye until it would pop. He tried to pull away, but the pain followed him. Someone had stabbed a knife through his head and hadn't bothered to remove it. He could feel it when he moved, his heartbeat pulsing around it.

Someone was talking to him. Someone he knew.

He struggled to the surface of consciousness, swimming towards the voice. Tiredly blinking, he opened his eyes, only to slam them shut again when the vice grip on his eye got even tighter, the pressure on his eye unbearable.

He fought his way back towards the voice, not wanting to disappoint it. He could almost make out the words, the tone soothing. Scared. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the right words. Couldn't figure out how his tongue worked.

He tried to open his eyes again, hiding from the blinding light that made him want to be sick. The voice in the background fell away for a few seconds, before it returned, clearer now. He recognized it with a jolt and he fought harder to regain full consciousness. He needed to reach the voice.

"Hey Sammy," the words swam towards his ears and he rolled his head over his neck to lock eyes with its owner, "How're you feeling?"

"Sucks," he mumbled, slurring slightly. He noticed the other one's frown and blinked owlishly.

"You okay Sammy?" Dean asked again, a little more urgently this time. Sam didn't answer, let his eyes wander around instead. His breath got stuck in his throat and his head cleared a little as he tried to push himself in a sitting position. He couldn't move, was bound to a pillar.

"Dean," he choked. The wooden floor was rough underneath him, and now that his eyes were getting used to the light, he realized it was actually quite dark where they were.

"_You need to make a choice, Sammy."_

Lori's voice drifted towards him from behind and he desperately tried to squirm himself free. Dean was bound to another pillar across from him. A third person, hidden in the shadows, finished their triangle.

"_Dean… or daddy?"_

"No, no, no, _no_," he shook his head, cried out in fear and frustration.

"_I hate you…"_

"Dean!" he screamed, gasping for breath. He was dizzy, the room spinning around him lazily. Tears were burning behind his eyes, threatening to fall.

He had to make a choice.

He couldn't do it.

"Sam!" Dean was yelling at him, "It's just me, just us. Sammy, _please_… you need to calm down."

But he couldn't. He was trapped in a never ending nightmare, where he had to choose between the people he loved the most. Only one of them could live.

"Sam, snap out of it!"

"_You need to make a choice, Sammy-boy…"_

"She's here," he choked.

"Who? Who's here?" Dean paled visibly, "The Ceesje?"

For a moment, Sam's brain stopped walking altogether. He stared at his brother in horror that was mirrored on the other Winchester's face.

"No," he finally breathed, "No, not the Ceesje."

Dean sighed in relief, slightly dropping his head, "Then what's going on?"

"I need to make a choice," Sam whispered hoarsely.

"A choice?""

"You or dad," if he had been Dean, he would have seen his own eyes glaze over as he mumbled over and over again, "You or dad. You or dad. _You or dad."_

"Sam!" Dean snapped, "It's… it's okay. You already did that. You… you saved me, remember?"

"What?" he didn't think Dean had heard him.

"That was weeks ago, Sammy," Dean repeated, "We're not there anymore?"

"We're not? … but dad…?"

"Dad's dead," the other brother said harshly, breathing through his nose, "Not your fault."

The world grew a little dimmer, darker around the edges. His head fell in his neck and he stared up at the dark wooden panels above him. There were dark stains on them, like patterns. It's like that chalet where he and Jess had stayed when they went skiing.

"Jess," he mumbled. He tried to touch her, but realized he couldn't.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice sounded close to panic, "You still with me?"

"Where're we?" he was so tired.

"Zombie-girls, remember?" Dean sounded so desperate, "Sam, no… open your eyes! Sammy!"

"Just for a moment…" he mumbled and everything faded back to black.

* * *

When he woke up again, things were slightly clearer. His headache was still there, but less violent and his eye didn't want to explode anymore. He sighed in relief.

When he tried to move, he realized that he was no longer bound to a pillar. In fact, he was lying down now and he was quite certain he wasn't bound anymore. He could feel the rough wood under his fingers. He pushed himself into a sitting position and almost toppled back down when this vision greyed.

"Whoa," there were hands on his back, "Easy there, Sleeping Beauty."

"God," he breathed, moaning softly.

"You can call me Dean," his brother repeated. His eyes fluttered open and he was relieved to see his brother smile down at him, although his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked. Dean shrugged.

"A lot of dead women happened," he answered, "Seems like that Joy girl is a lot stronger than she looks. She knocked you out pretty good, you've been in and out for quite some time now. Judging from the major bump on your head and the glassy eyed stare your giving me, I'd say you have a slight concussion."

"Oh," Sam answered. Yeah, he did feel concussioned… was that even a word?

"You okay?" Dean quietly asked in an afterthought.

"I'll live," he answered, pushing himself up in a sitting position once more. This time, he managed to stay sitting and Dean gently maneuvered him until his back was leaning against the wall. He could see the pillars through the bars of their small cell. He wondered why anyone would have cellblocks like these in the basement of a hunting cabin in the woods.

"You sure?" Dean asked uncertainly.

"Not like you're going to let me die," he pressed a hand to the side of his head to quell his headache and sent Dean a look, "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean answered without blinking. They were quiet for a while.

Both Winchester brothers jumped when the door creaked. A glazy-eyed woman stumbled past them, a foul stench, badly covered up with too much perfume trailing behind her. Sam gagged when it reached his nose, and leaned to his side as not to throw up on himself. Nothing came up, though.

The woman unseeingly peered into their cell. She had long black hair, which had lost its shine and had gotten tangled. The greenish grey tint of her skin looked everything but healthy, but he guessed that was to be expected from woman who was in fact dead. Her glassy eyes rested on Dean and she cocked her head to the side.

"Well, hi there beautiful," Dean said, Sam frowned, "Think you can let us out of here?"

She blinked slowly and turned around, walking away from them. The door fell closed behind her with a bang and Dean sighed loudly.

"Well," he said, "This sucks."

Both brothers fell silent.

"God!" Dean exclaimed a few hours later, after five more dead women had shuffled by, "How many zombie-chicks _are_ there?"

"Over thirty," Sam answered, "I think."

"Enjoying my girls, are you?" a new voice came from outside their cells. Both their heads snapped towards the newcomer and their mouths fell open.

"_You_?!"

* * *

**I'm really sorry about the delay. There's really no excuse but writer's block. I hope you still like the story :)**

**And yes, shortest chapter ever, I know and I'm sorry. Again, writer's block. Any ideas on who the 'you' may be? I'd love to hear them!  
**

**What happened in the meantime... I joined AIESEC :) I'm now their local partners responsible :D And for those of you who don't know what AIESEC is: it's the largest international student run organization in the world :) We sell international internships to other students :)  
**

**Also, I failed my driving test :( mehh :( I cried for hours after, but hey, nothing I can do about it, I guess.. I'll have another go at it november 8, so wish me all your luck, I'll need it!  
**

**Aaand I'm afraid there won't be a new chapter next week... I have a few days off, so I'll be going on a small trip :)  
**

**Oh, and what did y'all think of the new SPN episodes? Personally, I wasn't such a fan of the last episode... too little Sam and Dean!  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**- Lune x  
**


	10. Of Monsters and Men, pt1

**Chapter 10: Of monsters and Men, pt.1**

Sam frowned. The newcomer was familiar to him, but he could not remember where he knew him from. He tried to tie a name or place to the face, but his head protested, sending waves of pain through him. He rubbed one hand against his temple and glanced at Dean.

"Who is he again?" he asked quietly. Dean's head whipped towards him, suspicion and worry in his eyes.

"You don't remember?" he asked slowly, testily. Sam shrugged.

"Andy," Dean said, and a light went on in his head. Dean nodded as he recognized the look in his brother's eyes.

"The receptionist at Doctor Fuller's office?" Sam glanced at the man standing at the other side of the bars.

"It's _Andrew_," he spat angrily, "Or _Mr. Sparks _for you. And I'm Doctor Fuller's _assistant_."

"You sure, Sparky?" Dean teased, "You sure looked more like his little receptionist bitch than his assistant."

Andrew glared at him and Sam hissed his brother's name in an effort to shut him up.

"So… what kind of magic did you use then?" Dean asked, "Or are you maybe some poisonous monster who bit those poor women?"

Andrew frowned, "Magic? Poisonous monster? What the hell are you talking about?"

Now it was the brothers' turn to frown, "The zombie-women of course."

Andrew smiled, "You like 'm?"

"What did you do to them?" Sam asked.

"What you call _magic_, is the noble art of science," Andrew grinned proudly. He sighed and frowned when the brothers didn't react the way he wanted them to, "It's easy, really. I designed neurotransmitters that convince those women that they want to be with me and love me forever. I injected them into the breast implants and made sure that the implants would rupture a little, leaking just enough to get the neurotransmitters in their bloodstream, where they would travel to the brain…"

"And infect them," Dean interjected.

"And _improve_ them," Andrew retorted, "They were _unhappy. I_ was unhappy. And now, we're all happy."

"Now, they're dead!" Dean yelled, "Why? Why would you do that?"

"I am smart," Andrew yelled back, "Smarter than most people, and I sit behind a freaking desk, answering phones! My girlfriend… my stupid cunt of a girlfriend left me for someone stupid. Some idiot who didn't even know the difference between alpha particles and beta particles."

"Please don't tell me…" Dean started, a disgusted look on his face, "You don't… _ew!_"

"That's necrophilia," Sam's face mirroring Dean's disgust.

"You don't appreciate the beauty of my work," Andrew said haughtily, hurt in his eyes and voice. Both brothers frowned, "_Tinny_!" a young girl appeared from behind a door, "Watch them."

"This is disgusting," Dean turned towards him, "That man is a monster! He creates a whole army of freaking zombie-sex-dolls because he's frustrated with his ex-girlfriend and himself?" he turned towards the bars and yelled, "Get a life!"

"Dean," Sam hissed.

"People," Dean shook his head, "They're crazy. I'll never get them."

Sam nodded and rested his head against the wooden wall behind him.

"You okay Sammy?" Sam nodded. Both brothers fell silent and Sam closed his eyes, hoping his headache would go away with some sleep. He was surprised at the sudden pressure against the side of his body and opened his eyes slightly to watch Dean as he sat down next to him, their bodies pressed against each other. He smiled, resisted the urge to drop his head on his brother's shoulder. He had missed these rare moments of affection. Those moments when no-chick-flick-moments-Dean showed his soft side.

"Sam," his body tensed as the soft whisper reached his ears. He pressed his eyes shut, afraid of what he'd see when he'd open them. A sudden dread filled his body, paralyzed his heart and his limbs. He could feel his hands shaking in his lap, and he made fists, trying to keep the trembling under control.

"Sam," the whisperer repeated, "Open your eyes, look at me."

"No," he breathed. A soft sigh floated towards him and a cold shiver ran down his spine. He never could ignore that voice. Slowly, he opened his eyes, glancing from side to side. Dean had fallen asleep next to him, his chin resting on his chest. His light snores filled their cell.

"_Sam!_"

No longer able to ignore the voice, he turned his head towards her. An angel was standing on the other side of his cell. Her long blond hair was dancing around her shoulders as if there was a slight breeze in the room. Her beautiful eyes softened when they made eye-contact, her full red lips curling upwards in a smile.

"Jess," he breathed.

"Sam," she whispered, pressing her body against the bars, her slim arm reaching out towards him. She breathed in sharply when she couldn't reach him, rested her head against the cold metal, "Sam."

"Jess," he shook his head, pressed his hands against his face, "You're not real."

"But I am," her voice sounded like a spark of fire in the dark night, "I'm right here baby."

He shook his head, his eyes filling with tears, "Haven't you ruined her image enough?"

"What happened to you, Sam?" she asked softly. Sam took a sharp intake of breath.

"You died," desperation flooded through him, "In the fire, because of me."

"Not because of you," she said, "Never because of you."

A tear slid down his face and he sniffled. Dean shifted in his sleep but didn't wake up.

"I miss you, Jess," he choked out. She started to cry, big fat tears running down her cheeks.

"I miss you too," she blubbered, her hand groping air in an effort to reach him. He fell forward with a pained, longing cry, and grabbed her hand in his, bringing it to his mouth to kiss it, cherish it. He pressed his forehead against hers and they cried together, holding hands. Their lips found each other and they kissed, their mouths desperate for each other.

A burning smell reached his nose.

He frowned and opened his eyes. Couldn't breathe.

Jess' hair was on fire, the flames licking away at the tips, climbing its way up to her roots. She cried out in pain and he tried to back away from the flames and the heat, away from her.

"No!" she yelled angrily, "Don't leave me alone! Don't leave me!"

The grip on his hand became painful, nearly crushing his fingers.

"Jess," he cried, wincing, "let me go!"

"NO!" her voice was gravelly and the fire spread to her clothes, her skin bubbling angry red, "You left me last time. Not again. Never again."

He tried to pull himself away from her, but she didn't let go, pulled him closer instead.

"If I burn," she whispered, her smoky breath in his face, "You'll burn with me."

"Jess," he pleaded, "please."

The fire consuming her, spread to him and he cried out in pain as it ate away his clothes and hair. He bucked, slamming his body against the metal bars and floor, hoping to put the fire out. Instead, a spark jumped to the wood surrounding him and it ignited with a whoosh, the angry flames spreading as if the walls were soaked in gas.

"Dean!" he screamed, "Dean, wake up!"

And wake up he did. Dean jumped up with a scream, but the fire had already gotten a taste of him. He jumped around like a mad man on fire, screaming and cursing. The heat was unbearable.

He punched Jess in her face, but other than lose some of her burnt skin, she didn't bulge. She screamed at him, spittle flying in his face, burning hot. Dean bumped into him and fell to the floor, convulsing while the flames ate him. His painful screams slowly died out and then the convulsing stopped as well. Sam's heart froze, the roar from the blood in his ears almost as loud as the roar of the flames.

"Jess," he whispered, "please."

"I'm not a monster," she whispered and for a moment he could see the old Jess under the flames, the Jess he'd loved. Then, she made a choked sound and sagged to the floor, the pressure of her hand falling away.

"No," he breathed, "Jess."

He clutched at her now limp hand, while the flames ate him alive. Everything he knew was replaced by inhuman pain, the smoke burning his lungs and making it difficult to breathe.

"I love you, Jess," he coughed, sagging against the metal bars. He looked at her blackened hand in his, brought it to his lips to kiss it and closed his eyes, "Goodbye, love."

"Sam!"

Someone was shaking him, but the fire was too hot.

"Sam! Wake up!"

The fire burnt through his veins and he screamed, his eyes popping open. Dean was hunched over him, a panicked look in his eyes. Sam was on fire, but the fire was invisible. It was inside of him, still eating at him.

"Sam?"

"He's coming."

* * *

**Part one of the mystery is solved :D And it wasn't even supernatural, it was science. Which I've always sucked at, so if the scientific explanation makes no sence... use your imagination :p I did ;)**

**I love writing these hallucinations/nightmares so much ^^ They're way more fun than the regular timeline ^^  
**

**Some totally random college stuff: I had my first genderstudies class and I freaking LOVED it! I won a pack of waffles because I knew to answer to my professor's question ;) best prof EVER ^^  
**

**Lots of love!  
**

**- Lune x  
**


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